


Sing a Rainbow

by Khemi



Series: Sing a Rainbow [1]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Aromantic, Asexuality, Based on a Tumblr Post, Colourful Soulmates Au, Coming of Age, Demisexuality, Disability, Family, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Growing Up, Hammertime - Freeform, Happy, Light Angst, Loss, Love, M/M, Marriage, Mild Sexual Content, One-Sided Relationship, Platonic Romance, Platonic Soulmates, Polyamory, Rainbows, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Skippable Smut, be aware of this, coming to terms, could be considered, in so much as dave does not romantically fall for john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day Dave knows he's going to fall in love with the prettiest girl <em>ever</em>, and then the black and white world will change into colour, and he'll know what the rainbow looks like and why people stare when they see his eyes (even though Bro tells them not to).</p><p>Because that's what happens, right? That's normal. People fall in love, they find their rainbow, and then everything is perfect! There's no way that won't happen for him!</p><p>...Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Violet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theprettypinks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprettypinks/gifts).



> Inspired by [this tumblr post](http://pleasegodletmelive.tumblr.com/post/84492806878/owynsama-apharthurkirklands), about a world where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate. I wondered what happens to aromantics in that world, people who don't have romantic soulmates, and that led on to this idea. A series of snapshots through the life of one Dave Strider, as he finds the people who light up his life.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!
> 
>  
> 
> **As a warning: Dave in this fic is Aromantic. He will not fall in romantic love at any point in this fic. If that is going to be something you are uncomfortable with for any reason, please consider if this is the fic for you. There is a lot of love in this fic, but as I have now tagged, the relationship could be seen as one-sided, and although it is a healthy relationship that goes both ways, if the aromantic perspective isn't comfortable for you, please do remember it will be there and it won't change. Thank you.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dave is seven years old._
> 
> The rainbow song is something we used to sing at school, and whether or not it's common globally, I thought in a world where rainbows were so important, it _would_ be.

“Red and yellow and pink and green, purple and orange and blue... I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow too!”

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’ve been able to sing a rainbow for a few months now.

You do it at the top of your lungs whenever Bro is around, his smile as bright as the white of his face and his eyes a deep grey of pride. He sweeps you up in his big arms and lets you fly around on his shoulders as he tells you all about rainbows and what’s over them and how super special they are. Rainbows are a sign of true love, he tells you, really important to a lot of people, and even though you know he wears the little grey raincloud badge sometimes that means he doesn’t really care about them, he still teaches you about them all the same, because he knows _everything_ , and someday he’ll make sure you know everything too.

Rainbows are super-duper special and awesome and he even got you a poster of one to pin up on your wall, the colour names written in the bands of grey so that you’ll know which one is which when you’re older and you meet the prettiest girl _ever_ and you get married. Then her smile will make all of the colours shine, and you don’t know what that will be like but you know it’ll be really great! Everyone acts like it’s the best thing of all time, and you can’t wait until you get to see it too. You’ll get to see Bro’s hats that he tells you are all different colours in something more than slightly different monochrome tints. You’ll get to see your eyes that Teacher says are red and special and always make grownups with rainbow rings stare at you even when Bro asks them to go away.

You’ll get to see why Bro’s outfits are called _clashing_ and why Teacher’s hair keeps changing shade and why the poster on your wall is meant to be so _important_.

The world is going to be more than black and white and grey, and even though it’s already pretty cool, it’ll be even _better_ then!

You have nightmares, now and then, when you think it’s gone wrong, that your colours don’t come, that you’re broken and you’ll never find them ever. When you wake up and cry Bro rubs your back and tells you it’s okay, that whatever happens you’re okay, and sometimes he cries as well but you’re never brave enough to ask why.

Sometimes when you’re sitting in Bro’s truck waiting for the sign made up of little white dots to turn to GO instead of STOP, he rubs his little raincloud between his thumb and finger and tells you again that it’d be okay, if you never found anyone who made you see colours, if the world was always grey.

You always nod and tell him you understand, but it doesn’t matter.

You’re going to find your colours. You _know_ it. He just has to wait and see.

-oOoOoOo-

When you colour pictures of yourself in class, Teacher always puts a little red into your eyes for you.

You stare at the shade intently, trying to memorise it, and wondering what it looks like to her.

-oOoOoOo-

You’re seven when Bro sits down with you, gives you some AJ and ice-cream and tells you he has something really important to tell you. You drink and eat and you _know_ it’s something bad, because he only gives you treats for no reason when he needs to tell you that the TV is going off for a few days, or that he’s going to be at work more, or that there’s no more hot water again. He fidgets and tugs at his gloves and plays with his cloud, and then his hat is in his hands and his fingers are rubbing through his thinning hair like he’s trying to knead all the bad thoughts away.

“What’s up?” Your voice is a perfect little mimicry of his drawl, and he laughs, smiling and giving you a look with his pale-grey eyes you think might be yellow or orange or green.

“S’nothing bad,” he mumbles, nudging your shoulder, “just big news. Better brace yourself, bro, something seriously major is headed our way. You’re a big enough kid to take it.”

You puff up your chest at that, trying to wiggle your shoulders higher and straighter to show you’re just as big as he thinks! You’re practically all grown up and Bro can rely on you. He knows it, he knows you’re chiller than an ice cream float in the Antarctic that just got doused in liquid nitrogen, and you’re ready for whatever he’s got to throw at your big, super manly chest today!

Bro wriggles around the futon like he’s trying to get comfy, his teeth holding his bottom lip still between him opening and closing his mouth like a fish as he keeps starting to say something and then stopping. You’re getting impatient, and you elbow him, wanting to know what it is that he wants to say, what’s going _on._

“...So,” he mumbles _finally_ , and you perk up, eager for information. “So, okay. Let’s just do this. Um. You… have a sister, Dave.”

It takes a moment for what he said to register, because on top of how weird it is your brain does the double-take it always does when you’re forced to think of Bro as Dad, a word that just doesn’t fit right with him at _all_. Your eyes widen into pale saucers of awe as he stares at you apprehensively, and in a breathless gasp you repeat, “...a sister?”

“Yeah.” He nods, and your mind races through what your sister might be like, what you could do together, how big or small she is, and what if she only likes silly girly toys and doesn’t like your floating things in jars, and-

“Where is she?” Without thinking about it, you start looking frantically about like she might be hiding behind the futon or under the coffee table, clapping your hands with all attempts at being grown up forgotten. “Can I meet her? Is she cool? She’s my sister, she better be _super cool!_ Is she going to be with us? Can I hold her, is she tiny? If she’s big can she hold _me?_ Is she brand new, did you find her somewhere? Can I-?”

“Whoa, slow down there, champ.” Like always, he catches you before you fall into a ramble so big and long it’ll tangle around you like a big long snake of words and both of you will be caught forever. “She’s gonna be coming here, yeah, and she’s a little smaller than you, but no, she isn’t brand new, I didn’t just buy her from the kid depot. She used to live with her Mom but her Mom isn’t… okay, anymore, so she’s gonna come here with me and you instead.”

“Uh oh,” you intone _very_ seriously, lips falling into a pout. “Did something bad happen?”

“She got… hurt, by a bottle, so until she gets better she can’t take care of your sister.” The way he talks is that weird, stilted way grownups do when they’re lying and they think you don’t know, but you know Bro would only lie if it was _really_ important, so you don’t get upset. You’re too busy thinking about your sister, too. Your little sister. Is she okay? Will she like you? _Oh no what if she doesn’t like you?_

“ _Bro!_ ” His collar is in your fists in a moment, and you drag yourself so your faces are close together, your voice a worried whisper of fear. “ _What if she doesn’t like me?_ ”

Bro blinks, then laughs, which is _really_ not okay because you’re being _serious_ right now! He grabs you and pulls you over his lap and ruffles up your pale hair, ignoring your pout and wiggled escape attempts completely.

“Come on, dude, of course she’ll like you. You’re the raddest kid _ever_ , who wouldn’t like you?”

“ _Gamzee in my class doesn’t!_ ” Your response is an accusation, and Bro rolls his eyes, looking relieved and a darker grey than he did before, pulling you in close and cuddling you.

“Well then he’s an idiot, because you’re _incredible_ ,” Bro assures you, firmly. “She isn’t as stupid as- as that kid you just said. She’ll see how cool you are.”

“You really think so?”

“I _promise_.”

You think hard about it, but your worries fade. Bro promised. You know he’s right, he always is, and you know any sister of yours is going to be just as great as him, and you, because she’s a Strider and Striders stick together. You’ll stick together, all of you. Be a big family, and do family things, and it’ll be the best thing since apple pie.

(That’s a total lie, _apple pie_ is the best thing since apple pie. Always.)

“So when is she coming?” You bounce on his lap, excitement surging back through you. A sister. A _super cool sister._

“Soon. Should be here in a week or so.” Bro smiles, but it’s softer, and he runs his fingers through your hair and catches you, rubbing your noses together once you’re still. “She’s coming a long way so you do your best to be nice to her and make her comfortable here, okay? You need to look after her, Dave. Make sure she’s safe. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes!” You puff up again, big and ready to be the best big brother ever. “I’m gonna keep her so safe, Bro. I’ll look after her! She can be my cool little sidekick.” You gasp, eyes widening again. “She can be the Robin to my Batman!”

“...Or the better sidekick to a different hero because bad shit tends to happen to Robin,” he mutters in the voice he thinks you can’t hear, before clearing his throat and nodding. “But yeah. You look after her good, Dave.”

“ _Promise!_ ” Cross your heart and hope to die, no one is going to hurt your little sister while you’re on the case! You’ll be all over that tighter than a packet on a toy. You hum and eagerly squirm, thinking over all the things you can show her and all the games you can play together, before a question hits you like an arrow and your attention springs back to him. “What’s her name?”

Bro softens again, all mushy at the edges, smiling kindly. His voice is quiet and fond as he replies, “Rose. Her name is Rose.”

“Rose,” you repeat, and decide it’s a good name. Rose.

You can get used to that.

-oOoOoOo-

You’ve been excited all day, even though you still had to sit through school because Bro _sucks_ and wouldn’t let you stay home. You got taken to school and now you're being dropped home by one of Bro’s friends, and as soon as you’re in the apartment block you race up the stairs, bag smacking against your back with every few steps you leap over.

It’s the day! _The day._ It’s been a whole week and you’ve had the cot set up in your room ready for most of the time since Bro told you and you’re so excited you’re going to _explode._ You fumble your keys out and in your eagerness you drop them, and have to sheepishly skip all the way back down the steps to pick them up from the floor before you dart straight back towards home again, scraping and stabbing them against the lock in over excited pushes before the metal finds the right way in and you twist the door wide open.

It bangs against the wall and you leave it there, not sparing a thought for it swinging in the breeze as you rush in and gasp in delight. There's bags on the futon, big cases with wheels on, all light grey and covered with dark grey octopuses with big black eyes. A squeal escapes you as you leap at them, hanging over the back of the futon and grabbing a tag in both hands to peer at the shaky, little-kid handwriting that announces these bags belong to _RoS LALLonD_.

"Hello to you too, Dave." The door finally shuts as Bro speaks, and you try to look back to him without moving, but end up in a pile on the floor instead. You wriggle in place, watching his feet move across the upside down floor until he picks you up and turns you the right way, ruffling your hair and grinning down at you. "Little over-excited there, maybe?"

"Rose!" You squeak back, and it's all your mouth can say.

Bro laughs, and it's rich and deep but there's a little tenseness under it, something you know well because you know _Bro_ well, and he can't sneak a thing past you. "Yeah, yeah, she's here, calm your little manly chest. She's having a nap, the flight took a lot out of her."

" _Rose_ ," you repeat insistently, and this time Bro just rolls his eyes, almost disguising the way he's gone pale and keeps nibbling his lip like a rabbit going mad with a carrot. You try to use his weird state to dart past him to your bedroom, but he's too quick, plucking you up in his arms and setting you down again.

"Nope. She's asleep, can't wake her until she's ready." He smiles at you, before it gets all small and thin and he adds a quiet, "gotta be a good Dad, let her get her rest."

The word still sounds _really wrong_.

" _Brooo_ ," you whine, bouncing on your heels and dropping your back to the floor with a thud. "I'll be super quiet, _please_!"

"Come on, chill, it won't be long before you can meet her."

"Bro."

"Dave."

" _Bro._ "

" _Dave._ "

He puts his hands on his hips overdramatically and you groan loudly, flinging your hands up over your head. He's _terrible_ , he's being so stupid, you wouldn't make a sound and you wouldn't wake Rose and _you just want to see your super cool new sister who isn't actually new-_

Like the thought summoned her, your door creaks, and you blurt out an eager noise as he catches you again to stop you rushing forward. There's a little yawn and shuffling feet, and Bro moves away to grab the shape that appears in the entrance to the corridor, picking her up and smiling at her with nervousness oozing out of him before he turns to you.

"Dave," he says, "this is Rose."

You think he keeps talking, but you stop listening- no, you _can't_ listen, not over the rush of your blood in your ears as you stare up at her and your eyes widen, you heart stopping and the whole world feeling like it's tilted violently to one side. She's little, slim, with curl pale hair and thick-lashed eyes that are staring hawkishly down at you, but none of that matters.

_Her nightdress._

You slam your hands over your mouth to stop the noise or vomit that's going to leave you, and you really don't know which one it would be.

_Her nightdress isn't grey._

You don't know what it is but it's not the shades you've lived all you life surrounded by, it's something _new,_ it's excitement and sister and happiness all somehow wrapped up in a thing you think- you _think_ \- is _colour._

It's so vivid it's making your eyes water, brighter than the whitest white, and Bro is asking if you're alright but all you can do is stand there and tremble as you take it in, lost in a sea of youth and newness and the unexpected.

Small parts of your brain are asking different things, like is she your soulmate, like why is the world still mostly black and white, but you can barely hear them over the blare of satin glowing with something you'd only ever dreamed of.

_Colour._

Your knees feel weak.

" _Dave!_ " Bro raises his voice and you jerk your gaze up to him, giggling into your fingers as mad excitement overwhelms you. Before he can utter another word you're running, running to see your rainbow, running to see it how you _should_ see it and to finally see what red looks like and-

And...

Bro follows, and finds you collapsed to your knees in front of it, hands pressed to the paper and nails digging into it so hard you'd tear it if you moved them. Your excitement is gone, tears on your cheeks and your eyes darting as you shake your head in little refusals, confused and hurt by what's before you.

Of seven bands, six stubbornly stay shades, and only one glows with something new. Your colours have gone wrong, you only have one, and it's the wrong one, not the one you needed most of all.

 _Violet,_ the letters read, now set into a curve cut from the same brilliance as her dress.

All the rest are but slices of grey, and you choke on nausea as you realise you're just as broken as you were always scared you would be, in the nightmares you wondered what would happen if something went wrong and you never got to see your rainbow right.

A little hand touches your hair, and you turn to it, finding Rose beside you with a curious look on her face, soft fingers pressing to your cheeks as she focuses intently and then says, "Dave?"

You nod back, and reach out, fisting your hands into the mesmerising brightness of her dress and smiling a pretend smile that you think looks a lot like the ones Bro wears when he doesn't want you to know he's sad.

"Hey," you mumble, looking at her face and seeing all the same little things you know from your baby photos, and Bro's, all wrapped up with a softer edge. Rose beams, touching your nose and giggling quietly. "Hey, Rose."

Bro is behind you, looking at the rainbow, and when he kneels and puts a hand on your shoulder you spin and grab him, making your sister jump. Bro tugs you in and hugs you, and you feel a warm pressure against your back as Rose copies him, cuddling you from behind with a happy hum.

"You okay?" He asks you, and you shake your head, mumbling about Violet and rainbows and being broken. He listens intently, then rubs your back beneath Rose's belly, sighing. He doesn't say anything, looks confused when you chance a glance up at him, and you're prepared to curl up and vanish altogether before a voice speaks from behind you instead.

"Sometimes colours come one at a time," Rose explains matter-of-factly, or at least in a childish echo of being matter-of-fact. "Mom says so. Sometimes _whoosh!_ They're all there. Sometimes not at all. And sometimes one by one!"

She looks proud to have remembered, and you gaze up at Bro for confirmation, hoping it's okay, that it's something that happens, that you're alright. He gives a slight nod, and relief floods you, all the excitement panic had nailed behind a dam suddenly flooding over it and breaking it down to wash through your mind in a happy burst.

_Colour._

_Rose._

You squeal and grab both.

She laughs as you tumble over, rolling around with her in your arms. Your eyes are mostly shut but you keep them open enough to see that flash of brilliant, blinding Violet, laughing and picking her up to sit her on your stomach as your come to a stop on your back.

"We're going to get on so well!" Your smile is so broad it hurts, and you pull her in again and hug her tight, her yelp of surprise giving way to another laugh and a _Daaaave!_ "You'll be the best sister ever, I know it, and my rainbow says so!"

She looks up at your posters and pouts, squinting at you suspiciously. "I don't see nothing!"

" _Duh,_ it's different for everyone!" You rolls your eyes and she sticks out her tongue, but it just makes you laugh and boop her nose with your finger. "But you made me see a colour, you made me see something so special, Rose, I'm so happy, I'm so _happy!_ "

"I wanna see a colour! Is it pretty? What's it look like?"

You notice Bro settle in place, and through he's staring at your rainbow still he tilts an ear towards you, fingers brushing the raincloud currently on his collar.

"Um..." How do you describe it? You know why people never do, now, because colour is so magical and unique that you don't think you'll ever be able to describe it. Even with it here before your eyes, you're speechless, stunned by its beauty and unable to capture it. "It's like... It's like what happiness would look like," you tell her at last. "And bouncing! It's like bouncing, and smiles, and sleeping..."

Bro closes his eyes, smiling to himself, and Rose is enraptured, already hanging on her totally rad brother's every word.

"It's starting stuff and squealing and family..."

You smile, clinging to her dress with your gaze and fingers as you start to wonder what the other colours will be, what this means, what you can do to get them all as blinding and perfect as she is.

"It's home, Rose."

You nod, certain at that one, wiggling up against Bro's side as she looks to your rainbow and makes a big, awed O with her mouth. His arm slides over you, and you ignore the little trembles of his fingers on your shoulder, just smiling and searching the dress' depths before you look up to your sister's Violet-grey eyes.

"Yes. That's it. It's _home._ "

-oOoOoOo-


	2. Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet was easy, but orange is harder. What will happen if Dave never finds out where a colour came from?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dave is 11 years old._
> 
>  
> 
> I return! As part of my ongoing push to finish things, I am back to this fic, and it will be updating fairly regularly. :)

“Well, I have no idea why David can’t just admit he looks good in a suit, instead of insisting on trying to disassemble it at every given opportunity.”

You don’t know exactly when Rose swallowed a dictionary, but you’re pretty sure it happened at some point. When her and Bro go off on one of their legendary rap battles, you have to sit making notes to go off later and find out what some of it even meant. On the plus side, that’s given you a vocabulary that your teacher calls _astounding for your age,_ and you’re finally getting to the point you can keep up with them, something that always gets you two proud smiles when you try your best to prove it.

Now, though, you’d be pretty happy if their smiles disappeared, because if Rose adjusts your tie _one more time_ shit is going to flip off the handle so hard the handle is left a broken and bitter implement with attachment issues who will never be capable of being non-flipped again.

It doesn’t help that she’s perched up on a stack of books that Bro constructed, so she can reach you and fuss over you with those little child hands of hers and her high-pitched squeal of a voice that clashes with her grown-up words.

She’s ridiculous. A perfect Strider through and through.

“Come on, kiddos. Let’s get ourselves together before I’m late to this reception. Pretty sure your Uncle would run me through for it, and his missus said we ain’t allowed no swords at the party. Y’all better settle before I use you to get all my swording out of me before we get there.” Bro wiggles in between you, tugging your tie one last time then smacking your shoulder and using his knee to nudge you away so he can focus on making the last few adjustments to Rose’s dress instead. “We’re gonna show them what the better half of the family is like, you hear? And how our Dave is the best.”

“Isn’t Uncle David famous in Hollywood?” Rose asks sweetly, and you mumble, kicking at her dumb book pile.

“Yeah, well, who cares?” Bro shrugs it off, smoothing down her pretty violet ribbons that don’t burn your eyes anymore. “Someday our Dave is gonna be up in all the fancy Universities, showing off the bones of the rad species he just discovered.” You blush and duck your head, but don’t complain when Bro ruffles up your hair. “If there’s a way to be a superstar Paleontologist, he’s gonna find it. Make that dead shit all cool again.”

“I think you might be right, father.” Rose hops down. She takes your hand and squeezes it gently, smiling up at you with her eyes that still glow the colour of family. “The esteemed field of dead shit will certainly be enriched by his presence.”

“What all you after, Lalonde?” You mutter, but you can’t stop the way your lips bounce into a smile. She might be a pain, but she always knows what to say. Best sister- Not that she’s allowed to know that. Hell no. Don’t want that going to her pretty grey head.

“Nothing, for now.” Rose giggles. “Call it an I-O-U?”

Bro sweeps you both towards the door, and you nudge Rose’s arm, grinning when she nudges you back. Your family started out pretty weird, and certainly hasn’t got any more normal in the years Rose has been a part of it, but that’s part of its charm.

You still sing a rainbow every night, and violet reminds you that being a Strider is the best thing there is.

  
-oOoOoOo-  


“He’s marrying a dude?”

Bro’s sigh is gruff and short, his eye roll basically audible. You give a little embarrassed wiggle, and man, you’re glad your voice was quiet enough only Bro heard you. Well- Bro and Rose, by the way she covers her mouth and gives a dainty little laugh that’s way too grown up for a kid her age.

To be fair, _Jess_ didn’t exactly bring a guy to mind! You were thinking Jessica-like-in-your-class, not Jesse-like-the-outlaw. But nope! That is definitely your Uncle clasping hands with a pretty looking guy with skin a nice dark grey that looks soft somehow, and they’re reciting vows that are sweet and gooey and not at all things you ever expected to come out of David Senior’s face.

“Didn’t know y’could marry dudes,” you mumble into your collar, ducking your head into it. The fabric is soft and less judgmental than your sister, who is still peering up at you with a terrible little smile. She starts to murmur something about a bad time to be educated, but Bro puts a hand on her shoulder, hooking his arm across yours, and gives a tiny shake of his head.

“Never a bad time to learn shit,” he whispers, stooping his head closer to your level. You emerge, the sheepish turtle that you are, emboldened by his voice. It’s always been the best thing at calming you down. “Now, he couldn’t do this back home. Texas ain’t quite so soft on the subject. But down here in Cali it’s all good. You can marry who y’like, no matter what’s swinging between their legs.”

“Hm.” This is a revelation to you. The image in your mind that you’d someday have to find a woman you like to marry and settle down with shifts, and suddenly that future partner is a big question mark. It could be _anyone._

The freedom is exhilarating.

“So- So I could marry anybody? If I’m in Cali.”

“Or a couple other places, yeah.” Bro smiles, encouraging you with the crease of his cheeks and the soft sparkle in his monochrome eyes. “Don’t let anyone tell you different, Dave. You love who you like, hear me? Whoever brings your rainbow, or whoever you _want_ to, that’s all fine by me.”

“And me,” Rose adds insistently, curling her fingers around your hand and squeezing it.

You smile, and listen to David fumble his way through a promise to cherish all the colours in his life, and the person who brought him them. Someday, you’ll make that promise to someone. You wonder who it’s going to be.

He kisses his husband as you all clap and whistle, and Bro touches his raincloud lightly, but does it with a sigh that doesn’t sound so sad.

  
-oOoOoOo-  


“Oh, they do look delightful,” Rose sighs, sipping her drink like it’s wine. She’s peering out at the dance floor, where David has finally pulled apart from his new husband to bow and gesture others to join them. You tried to watch, but it’s a bit slow for your liking, and it makes your stomach feel weird in ways you don’t know if you could explain if you tried. All tight, and twisted, and uncomfortable.

The old whispers return. _Maybe something’s wrong with you. Maybe you’re broken._

_Who only gets one colour?_

You shake it off and look away, only glancing up when Rose coos excitedly and David pulls a younger boy up to him to dance, stooping down and swaying with his new partner’s feet balanced on his shoes.

It’s cute, even though the boy can’t be more than a year younger than you. You watch a little longer before the twist returns and you look away.

“Don’t think I like weddings,” you confide in Bro, who nudges your shoulder gently. “I feel kinda sick.”

“Maybe it was the food?” He suggests, and you can feel him peering at you in concern, even though he pretends not to be. You shrugs, and Bro leans over, dropping his voice. “Dave, if you wanna leave…”

“No!” It comes out too loud, and you hide back in your seat, covering your face with a hand. You repeat it in a mumble. No. This is your Uncle’s wedding! _Bro’s bro!_ This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and no one can miss it because of you and your stupid stomach.

Bro rubs your back, gently, touching a comfort you need more than you want to let on. You’re a big boy now, right? You can keep this shit under wraps.

So you do. You fall quiet, and Bro recedes, and goes back to discussing the dancing with Rose.

“Yeah, that’s Dirk, David’s kid. Didn’t want to come earlier but I’m glad he made it now. He’s a good kid.”

You glance up at the boy again, and wonder why you’ve never met him. You voice the question.

“Oh.” Bro shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck and staring very pointedly into his drink. “Well, David’s always busy, y’know? They don’t spend much time together as it is, and Dirk’s at some fancy-ass boarding school. Not really any time to come visit up with little old us.”

“Oh.”

You don’t like that. There’s always been excuses for why David couldn’t come, when you used to ask for him, and one day you just stopped asking. It doesn’t feel great to think about if Dirk stopped asking too.

You’re so lost in the thought, in staring down at the tablecloth, that you barely notice the changes sparkling in the corners of your vision.

It doesn’t slap you quite like violet did. It creeps up on you, invades your world in little pieces, until the moment you spill your drink all down your shirt and realize the flowers in the center of your table are glowing with a fire that stings your eyes.

“Bro,” you gasp, fending off his attempts at shoving a paper towel over the spreading cold on your front. Instead, you grasp his cheeks and try to force his head towards the flowers.

“Yeah, they’re dancing, it’s sweet as fuck. Now stop being a shit, Dave, your shirt is going black-”

It is. The juice is dark, and your white shirt soaks up the shade perfectly.

That doesn’t matter, though!

“No, the flowers!” You shake him, and he groans exasperatedly, clapping a hand over your wrist and dragging one of your hands away. “What colour are they?”

“They’re just roses, Dave. Probably red.”

You squeal and jump up, sending the whole pitcher of juice flying at Rose, who barely catches it in time to stop her violet dress staining. She squeaks, affronted, and any other time you’d be desperately apologizing because you’re so clumsy sometimes, but-

“I need a mirror!”

Bro snorts, dragging you back down and starting to mop up the mess. “Finally gonna sort your mess of hair out?”

“No, I…” You flail at the flowers. How can he not _see-?_

But it’s like before, isn’t it? It’s only you. You deflate, still fixed on them, wondering if this is what your eyes look like, and wondering what this colour will mean. Where did it come from? You aren’t sure, and reach out to tug off a petal and rub it between your fingers, wondering if the colour will just fade away when you touch it. It doesn’t, but it’s softer now, dulling into something your eyes can manage.

It looks nice under the violet you painted your nails.

You notice the tug on your arm the second time, and tear your attention away from mystery, and confusion, looking at the short boy beside you who seems eager to get your focus. He’s the one who was perched on your Uncle’s feet, your cousin, his eyes heavy-lidded over a glow as bright as the rose petal in your hand.

“Um,” you start, but before anything else gets out, he’s thrust a black square at you. The moment you take it, he shuffles away, leaving you staring after him before you remember what he gave you and look down at it, turning it over and then easing it open when you notice the split in it.

It’s a mirror.

You remember your outburst and shoot another glance at his retreating back, the moment before it disappears between bigger bodies.

Dirk, Bro said. Huh.

You’re not surprised when you find your eyes are grey, the expected disappointment dulled under a fiercer curiosity. The petal is soft, and you look it over again.

“Dirk,” you murmur, and wonder what Dirk is going to mean.

You wiggle out of your chair with an excuse about the bathroom, but even with your best attempts, your cousin eludes you. You cry when you get too tired to keep looking, and despite your protest, Bro scoops you up in his arms and carries you off to bed.

  
-oOoOoOo-  


Dirk is orange, and orange is a mystery. You hide under your covers and look over your rainbow, the two glowing bands far apart and opposite in every way. You know violet, understand it, know the feeling of family and warmth and Rose’s soft hand on your arm. Orange is just a tug at your arm and silence, something you needed given without comment and a promise of something more that’s always out of reach.

It came to you from a distant glimpse, and that bothers you. Rose was right there, and you knew it was her, could learn what she was to you.

Are there people who get their rainbow in a crowd, and spend their lives chasing after it, not knowing which face it was that gave colour to their world? Are there people who see a face they can never reach, but it’s the only face they’re ever going to want to see?

What if one day all your colours come, but they’re all shining from someone you might never even know?

Your nose starts stinging before you can stop it, fear tight in your chest. What if you never see Dirk ever again, and you never get to know what orange is meant to mean? What if it wasn’t him, and you don’t even know-

By the time you’re knocking frantically on Bro’s door, your cheeks are wet and blotchy, and you can barely see through the blur in your eyes. Little hiccups tear at your throat, and you splutter out mumbled curse words you know you shouldn’t say, scrubbing at your face to try to get the tears to stop.

“Dave?” Bro’s voice is rough at the edges and wet in a way you don’t like, way too close to how you sound right now- but Bro doesn’t cry. Nope! He’s big and strong and always there when you need him, and he never cries like you do. “Aw, _hell.”_ His arms are around you and dragging you in, close to his hot, fuzzy chest and the sound of his heart that’s bumping too fast. “What happened, kid? Talk to me.”

“I got another colour but I don’t know where it came from and what if I never, ever know or I never, ever get to see him again-” It’s all rushing out in one go before you can stop it, raw and dragging fresh tears out of you with needle-pricks around the corner of your eyes. “-Or what if I get more like this and I never get to know where they come from or why or what that person should have meant because I can’t ever have that person to know?”

“I…” He gulps weirdly, burying his face in your fair. “I know it’s hard, Dave, I know it hurts, but it’s _okay_. Even if you never know, it’s- It’s okay.”

The words are empty, and something hot bubbles up horribly in your chest, making you shove at him despite how nice his arms feel around you. He lets go, staring at you in surprised and hurt as you shake your head and thrust an accusatory finger at him.

 _“No!”_ You choke it out, angry. Stupid Bro, stupid raincloud! He doesn’t have these problems! “No you _don’t_! You don’t _have_ any colours, you don’t _know_!”

Bro looks like you slapped him, eyes widening just enough that you can see a faint glimmer of orange in them, something you never thought to look for. He touches his chest where his pin should be, and then his face is falling, contorting, turning into an expression you never wanted to see on Bro, especially not because of you.

The anger goes as quickly as it came, and you reach out for him. No, this isn’t meant to happen, you aren’t meant to upset him. Nothing is meant to upset him! He’s… He’s Bro, and he’s…

He’s _crying_.

“Guess I don’t,” he mumbles, stepping just out of your reach. “Sorry.”

“Bro-”

“Go to bed, Dave,” he tells you thickly, before closing the door. The sound of the deadbolt is loud in the dark, and you stare at the wood like he’ll open it back up, just kidding, he’s fine-!

He doesn’t.

You go back to your bedroom when your own sniffles get too loud to stand, crawling under the covers and tearing your rainbow to pieces that you leave across the floor.

  
-oOoOoOo-  


The ride back to Houston is long and boring, especially when you and Bro aren’t talking and Rose is aware enough of the tense air that she buries herself in books instead. Bro leaves the radio on a station that doesn’t seem to know that time carried on after the eighties finished, tapping his fingers to the wheel too hard and too disjointed to pretend he’s actually listening to the beat.

You made sure to collect all the fragments of your rainbow poster, and they’re hidden in your bag, tucked in the front pocket. You keep playing with them, regretting your stupid mood when you ruined it. That poster was on your wall as long as you can remember, and now it’s in pieces. Even the colours that still glow on it don’t make you feel any better.

Rose starts snoring softly a few hours after you leave California, and you’re almost dozing off yourself when the music suddenly drops off, making you jump back to alertness. Bro’s fingers are still tapping the volume button, then slip back to grasp the wheel, flicking the indicator as you change lane.

Still, the music going quiet is clearly a sign. You wiggle upright in your seat, head bowed in shame as your eyes stay on him, wondering if he’s finally going to chew you out for the way you acted to him.

“Think I was about your age,” Bro starts finally, gaze pointedly on the road. “I always thought I’d remember exactly when, like it’d be branded on me forever. Didn’t happen. Even that got muddled up with everything else when I grew up, I guess, that’s just how it goes.”

You aren’t sure what he’s talking about, but you listen anyway, turning your face towards him. His fingers tap again, erratic, then settle down.

“I liked watching nature shows. You got your dead things, I had my living ones. Don’t know how much I’ve… I was in foster care, me and David both were. Got a good family and they let me watch my shows while he was out running around with one of those old super eight’s. Wanted to be a zoologist or something, back before I took up music and sewing. Seemed cool, you know? Being out there with all that wildlife, going all around the world and getting to just enjoy all the things this world has hiding in her forests and distant lands.”

Bro’s voice has softened, like it does when he talks about Rose’s Mom, or when he tells you how proud he is of your latest comic. It’s a nice tone, warm like a blanket, and though you’re still worried he’s about to call you up on how you acted, it’s easy to relax into it. You like it, when he tells you stories, though he rarely tells you ones from when he was little. You knew small things, odd comments and confessions that slip out after he’s had one too many cheap beers and you should be in bed, but you can’t remember him telling you anything proper like this before.

“So anyway, David’s off filming something stupid one day- it was always stupid shit, still is, don’t know why people love watching that crap he makes- and I was inside watching shows and doodling the latest species of bird I’d got obsessed with that week, whatever it was. Usually I didn’t stay up to watch shit that late, I went to bed early, thought maybe one day, I’d get up so early I’d see something outside no one ever had. We all have dreams, right? Mine were just dumb.”

“Think it’s cool,” you mumble back, and Bro laughs, shaking his head.

“Nah, it was pretty stupid,” he glances at you, smile fading a little. “But I was just drawing and then I heard- There was this voice. All bright and big and talking about this rare lizard like it was the best thing in the _world_. Caught my interest, so I just glanced and I…”

He falls quiet, rubbing his thumb over the wheel, his other hand pulling back to tap his cloud. It settles him, and he clears his throat.

“First thing I saw in colour was his face, and it was rich and dark and his eyes were so _green_ \- This lizard he had, he was talking about it in grey but it was bright _yellow_ , Dave, with red all down it. It hurt my eyes, God, thought I was going blind, but I couldn’t stop looking. Not for a second.” He sighs wistfully, glancing at you and going dark at the cheeks when he meets your eyes, big and wide as they are. Bro can see colour? Bro knows who his rainbow is? Your head is spinning, and you have so many questions, so many things you need to know!

“So I watched, and when the show ended, I ran off to find everything I could about this dude. Watched that show the night after, and after, and got everything I could.” Bro frowns. “Still have it all. It’s kinda funny, watching it now. Looks… wrong.”

“What?” You ask, but he shrugs you off.

“Another time,” he promises, then sighs. “Anyway, look. I got my rainbow from some guy on a screen, and I- We never met. I tried, so hard, but what was I gonna do? He was famous and far away, and I was just some brat in Texas who said I could see colour now.”

“Couldn’t David have helped? He’s famous too.” You nudge him, and Bro looks away, blinking too fast.

“Wasn’t then,” he answers hoarsely, before swallowing and managing to get his voice back to normal. “It was a long time ago.”

“Oh.” You have more questions, but that wet edge keeps them down. This isn’t something that’s easy for Bro, even you can see that. You aren’t dumb enough to push him too far. Slowly, that thought mutates into him crying the other night, and what you said, and oh no.

_Oh no._

“You… You do know what it’s like,” you whisper, mortified, and Bro snorts, but nods.

“It ain’t as bad as you think. You just get on with shit, and it’s less… important, in the end.”

“Thank you for telling me.” You touch your bag again, and wonder if it’s so bad. You only have one colour that you don’t know, right now- he had a whole rainbow and he could never really know the person it came from. It’s a thought that’s cold and uncomfortable, and it makes it easier to talk. “I think it was Dirk. It was after I saw him that I noticed it, and you said he wasn’t there until then, so he was the only thing I know for sure was new. His eyes are the same- orange. It’s orange. _He’s_ orange, I think.”

“I can see if David will give me his number or something,” Bro answers, sounding relieved. “See, that ain’t so bad at all. You think you know who it is, and I can make sure you talk.”

“That’d be cool.”

He reaches over and messes your hair up, the touch lingering a moment too long before he draws his hand back and rubs his raincloud instead.

“You’ll be okay,” Bro promises. It’s easy to believe him, and shoo all those demons and their whispers away.

You settle back as he slides the music up, finally changing to a channel with some tracks you like. Sleep catches you before you expect it to, and by the time you wake up again, Bro is singing at the top of his lungs, and Rose is giggling and clapping along.

  
-oOoOoOo-  


TG: hi  
TT: Hello, Dave.

Orange is snark, and quiet, and friendship, and looks just right when you sit up late laughing at bad raps and taping your rainbow back together.

  
-oOoOoOo-  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome, and I'll be back with you with the next colour (whatever that will be!) soon!


	3. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green comes with a burst of life and a smile, but Dave's thoughts are, for once, more focused on something grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dave is 14 years old._

EB: all i'm saying is, you can ollie as much as you like at me online, but i doubt you can actually manage to even stay upright on a board in real life.  
TG: egbert  
TG: egg and berton  
TG: bert degg  
TG: egberre  
TG: egbird  
TG: egelbertington  
EB: wow you are way better at making stupid names out of john.  
TG: i consider this a challenge now cool your tits and listen  
TG: the art of radical moves is ancient and noble  
TG: it aint for the common man  
TG: but see you are talking to a strider and we are cut of finer cloth that most  
TG: cloth made of sweet flips and sweeter looks  
TG: one day youll witness my flips and youll be so blown away youll just keel over then and there  
TG: your tombstone will say here lies john he just couldnt take the swag  
TG: and ill go to your funeral and weep for you  
TG: and when they ask me to say a few words  
TG: ill just grind your coffin and ascend into the sunset on my deck  
TG: the king of killing it  
TG: skills too pure for this world  
EB: sometimes i remember you're my best friend, and i question all my life choices.  
EB: this is one of those moments, dave.  
EB: this is one of those moments.  
EB: although...  
EB: you're being really quiet, dave!  
EB: are you okay?

Only John Egbert can tell when you're being _quiet_ from a ramble without any heart put into it. Most people see the sheer volume of letters and let it slide, but not him, nope. He can read between those lines and dig right down into the meaty bits of Dave, the bits no one else is meant to see.

Maybe that's why you're so scared.

TG: if i wasnt such a fucking coward i could just show you  
TG: get some sweet angles and bust those moves right here and now  
TG: but we both know im not gonna  
EB: dave, don't do this again.  
EB: it's okay, dude.  
EB: i get it!  
EB: it's fine.

Your colours have always come as a surprise, and that's been okay. Rose and Dirk both swept you off your feet, bowled you over with brightness, and you never thought it'd be them but now you're here, and you're happy, and they're glowing away on your rainbow.

You don't know what you'll do if you see John and he doesn't glow.

TG: just has to be the right moment is all  
EB: i know.  
EB: i want it to be you too.

There are a lot of things you've thought of in your life. When your colours would come, who'd bring them, what they'd mean; but you never thought maybe you'd meet the person first. That someone would appear in your life and damn, he'd be brilliant and bright in grey alone, that he'd light up your life as just text on a screen.

You've known John for three years now, and you have no idea what he looks like. You know where he lives, what he sounds like, how he laughs and that he hates cake. Know his favourite movies, his bizarre dislike for chess, his need to constantly outdo you and his love of making you lose your shit- But not his face. Never his face. Never what his smile looks like, or how his eyes must sparkle when he tells a stupid joke, or how he looks when he's thinking about you.

What if you see it, and it isn't enough?

What if he's perfect, but he isn't meant to be _yours?_

Once, you were scared of having a colour and never knowing where it came from. Now you're scared of a void in your life where you know a colour should be.

EB: i wish there was a way to choose.  
EB: i used to think it was so cool that you'd see someone and know!  
EB: it sounded so great.  
EB: now it just seems really unfair.  
EB: what if i don't want my colours to come from the person they do??  
EB: what if that person isn't you?  
EB: if life is even a little bit fair it will be, but what if.  
EB: and even if you're all my colours, i might only be one of yours.  
EB: what does that even mean???  
EB: my teachers never told me some people could only get one colour at a time.  
TG: maybe im broken  
EB: no!  
EB: no, you're not, that isn't what i meant!  
EB: i just meant it's weird no one ever mentions it!!  
EB: it can't just be you, dave.  
EB: it must be for a reason!

Your nose is stinging and you bite back the bitter taste, shaking your head at nothing and shoving your shades up to scrub the tears away before they can fall.

TG: i have to go  
EB: oh.  
EB: okay.

The cursor blinks in time with your heart.

EB: i'm sorry.

You close your laptop and stare into space, and at least your dead things don't make fun of you when you sniffle like a child.

  
-oOoOoOo-  


Bro's taken to watching documentaries again, and you and Rose usually sit either side of him, watching along as he doodles birds and lizards and the odd cat to appease your sister. You'd never really seen him draw before he started covering the pages of his sketchbook with ornate wings and feathers, but man, if he'd stuck with it he could've done amazing things with those skills.

Instead, he sews, but he promises you he's happy.

"Might've been cool but it wouldn't've been me, y'know?" He smudges the pencil and blends in the shades that define the snake he's coiled over the paper, before lightly erasing highlights across it and bringing it to life. "Dreams are cool but you take what life gives you and when it gives you lemons you open a lemonade stand and make a mint."

The puppet business got big, two years ago. _Exploded,_ some might say. The first day Bro paid off all your bills in one go he cried, and framed the paper that showed all the balances were clear. Some people think you aren't living the high life, and hey, they're right. But you're living a good life. A secure life. That's all Bro ever really wanted for you.

"Ever going to show us those old documentaries?" You hazard on a Tuesday evening, nudging him lightly in the ribs. Talking with John has been tense since your quiet meltdown, and though even now you're typing to him, even you can see how clipped the words are, how hollow the smiles have become. You need a distraction, and for once you'll take it at anyone's expense.

Bro glances at you as Rose shuffles the pages of her book, pretending she isn't listening _intently._

"Maybe," he says eventually, and you could've put money on the beat it takes him to reflexively touch his cloud. "You actually gonna watch them, or just make fun of me?"

"I think it'd be cool to see them." _To see what could've been._ You shrug at him, cheeks hot under his stare, but he eventually relents and sets his book down. He's got... better, with the whole talking thing. You know a lot more about Jacob Harley than you expected to, even if it seems to be a topic reserved only for you. Rose is still left more in the dark, and you wonder if he'd make some hollow excuse about her age; really, it had more to do with the fact she gets sent to bed when he starts drinking, but you stay up and listen to him ramble.

"Guess it'd be... interesting for you." Bro stretches, trying to hide the nervous way his tongue flicks over his lip. "Learning experience and all that."

You fidget with your shorts, tucking at the loose threads around the hem. "I kinda wanna see what he was like," you admit, because lying to Bro- it's not something you do. It's just not. That shit ain't cool, never was. "He sounds pretty great."

Bro softens, and looks away.

"Yeah. He was."

Rose waits until Bro is out of the room before she reaches over and pats your thigh, a sparkle in her eyes.

"Very good, Dave."

"What?" You shuffle away, always worried when she uses that _one_ voice. Rose smiles and makes a note in her book.

"There are stages to grief, and for some time you have been easing Father through them. Acceptance is the final step, and to see him reaching it is touching after he has spent so long trapped in avoidance and denial." She nibbles lightly on the end of the pen, looking you over. "The loss he experienced is still heavy on him, but simple acts like discussion lighten the load considerably; you are a good son, Dave. You are doing a good thing, even if you do so selfishly."

"Cut the son crap," you whisper, still _just_ as uncomfortable with it as ever. "But thanks. I think? Yeah. Thanks."

Rose nods, and returns to making notes, likely on the _deep emotional bond_ you share with Bro, as the man himself walks back in with an ancient VCR and a tape. He sets it up quickly (only dropping the TV on himself once) and then blows dust off the remote as he settles next to you, clearing his throat and tightening his jaw.

He presses play, and even Rose simply abandons her book, full attention on the screen. It crackles, jumps, flickering through a dated logo that distorts- and then with a slightly off-tune hum the music comes in, panpipes over a vista that is bathed in an orange sunset you smile softly at, similar to the ones you've sat and watched as you described them to Dirk and thanked him for them again and again.

"India," a voice starts, and damn. It's like a honey-coated cinnamon swirl, all dusted with sugar that could rock you to sleep. Bro tenses, and you and Rose both have a hand on his legs in the same moment, glad he relaxes when his hands cover yours and his fingers curl around them. "Known for its beauty around the world, and surely a location like no other."

The scene changes, with another brief distortion, to a crocodile with a nose like a poker, sitting lazily on the edge of a river. "The Gharial is as unique as the place it calls home," voice-over dude explains, patient but with a bubbling excitement just below the words. "The longest crocodilian in the world, they are truly a sight, and it is tragic they are one that may soon be lost forever. Hunted for their skins and medicine, and driven out of their homes by the arrival of man, these delicate reptiles are sitting upon the brink of extinction."

You're actually interested, you genuinely are, but the moment the screen is filled by a man perched on the edge of a boat, the words fade behind something far more intense, and meaningful. Bro's hands tighten, and you squeeze back, looking at the face of the person who was meant to be his happy ending.

He looks friendly, soft at the edges and worn through his years, but his eyes have a soft shine to them that glimmers even through the static. His smile is so gently, fatherly, that you can't help but imagine for a moment what it might've been like if that smile had actually been a part of your life, greeting you in the morning while Bro rambled to him about whatever had happened that day- or what if you'd travelled? Gone with him, gone adventuring...

The banner at the bottom holds the name you already know, but Rose leans forward to stare at it, before she jumps up and runs like it's terrified her. Bro flinches and the moment breaks, shatters. He pauses the video and looks away.

_Goddamit, Rose._

He wipes his eyes, shaking his head.

"I can't- That's all, folks." Bro laughs wryly. "Sorry."

You gently reach over and turn the VCR off, rubbing his should and shaking your head.

"No, it's cool, it's fine- You did great, Bro. Thank you."

"I'm gonna go..." He gestures roughly upwards. "Gonna smoke. Drink maybe."

"Do what you gotta, it's all good," you promise, and he nods, glancing at the dark screen before he shuffles away. You wait until he's in the fridge before you get up, taking a long, _deep_ breath and then stalking after Rose.

"What the _fuck-_ " You shove open her door and find her on the phone, so you gesture angrily at her, trying to signify you _need to talk about whatever the shit just happened._ She shakes her head, turning away as her eyes dart.

"So he was- Jade, I know this might be uncomfortable for you- Oh. Well, then. If it isn't, would you mind-?"

 _Who the shit is Jade?_ You mouth it, and Rose shakes her head more insistently.

"Thank you, thank you. I'll owe you, Jade, I really will... No, I think it would be- Yes. It would be good for both of you."

A moment later she finally hangs up, and your rage drains as you catch the odd gleam to her eye, the way she stutters and holds the phone so tight her knuckles are pale against it. She blinks out a few tears, and you hurry to close the door, rushing over and grasping her shoulders, concern for her just as heavy in your mind as for Bro. Why is everyone in your family crying today?

"I was so stupid, I never thought- I mean maybe I did, but it was so ridiculous-" Rose shoves your hands away to hug you instead, and you gently stroke her hair, just like you have since the first time she crawled into your bed and hiccuped out that she couldn't sleep. "I always know, Dave, this is what I do! How could I not know?"

"You wanna start making sense any time soon?" You nudge her, but it's soft and careful. "I'm not really following."

"Jade- She's in my class. She's spoken about him before, about why she asked to move here."

"Rose..."

"She's _Jade Harley,_ Dave," Rose slaps your chest, weakly, then just curls her fingers into your shirt instead. "She's Jade Harley."

Oh.

Like-

"I'm guessing some relation?"

Rose just splutters a mirthless laugh and pulls closer, so you rub her back and decide understanding can wait, for now.

Your sister is way more important, and you hate to see her cry.

  
-oOoOoOo-  


Your wallpaper is green, and you learn that in a blinding flash when your door bursts open and nearly six foot of ten-year-old explodes into your life.

"Fuck! _Shit!_ " Your eyes are watering, and you cover them, scrub at them, before blinking and squinting at the epicentre of the colourful explosion, already fumbling out the little rainbow card you've taken to keeping in your pocket, just in case. Green. _Green._ Right.

"You must be Dave!" She runs over in boots that look a size too big and thud across the floor, all heavy and undone. How she doesn't trip over her laces you have no idea, but other things are way more pressing, holy shit.

"You're green," you wheeze at her when she just grabs you and hugs you _way_ too tight, flailing at Rose to free you from the vice. Rose's eyebrows twitch up, and she mouths the colour back to you, only descending upon your human prison when you nod frantically. "Oh my God. _You're_ green?"

Her eyes are indeed the colour she sparkles with, and they go wide behind glasses as big as dinner-plates.

"No, I'm Jade- But am I green too? Rose told me how you see colours, I think it's so _cool-_ " She claps, rocking up and down on her feet. You're glad she isn't actually jumping because hot _damn_ would the neighbours be mad. "Oh, I'm someone's colour! I'm _someone's colour!"_

"Yep-" She's back around your neck again. Son of a bitch. At this rate green will mean being choked.

Rose pries you apart as Jade giggles and grins, swaying in place. "This is so great! I was worried that I was Bec's colours like he's mine but he's colourblind so that would be really pointless-" She pauses, grasping your shoulders but thankfully keeping a little distance. "Bec is my dog, you see, so that would be ridiculous. He couldn't see colours for me, right? But he's mine! Yep. My rainbow best-friend! When I first saw him I knew he was the puppy for me and I was right! He's such a good boy. He helped me learn to walk and talk and he's the best friend a girl could want-"

"Your rainbow is... a dog?" You manage, and Jade beams, apparently not grasping in any way how bizarre that is.

"Well you rainbow is whoever it is, right? And my Bec made me the happiest girl in the world. Why wouldn't he be bright?"

Huh. You'd never wondered if, well, rainbows were _human specific_ , before.

"So you're never gonna love someone?" You hazard at last, and Jade shrugs, smiling.

"Of course I am! I love lots of people! It doesn't matter they aren't my colours, I still love them just as much! But oh!" She smooshes up your cheeks. Someone control this child. "I know what colours mean to people, so I'm so happy I'm yours! I just know we'll be super friends, Dave!"

So green is excitement, and bursting bubbles, and too-large shoes on bouncy feet. It's a smile so broad it stretches cheeks and a voice so earnest you can't help but start to grin back.

Green is Jade Harley, and you aren't sure what else it'll be yet, but green seems pretty fun... when it isn't choking you, of course.

Wait-

"You and the dog, you don't, uh-"

"We are _ten,_ Dave," Rose answers sweetly. You flush and spread your hands.

"Yep. Cool. Okay! Just... checking."

"So where is, um, Bro?" Jade looks between you, and you see the moment her smile dampens, fades to a trouble look she barely hides, her fingers tangling together to pluck at the bands she wears like rings. You share a look with Rose, who nods quietly, and God only knows when you started trusting her entirely but you do.

In a practised motion, you grab the broom, tapping it up to the ceiling and hearing shuffling a moment later.

"He naps up there," you hear Rose explain calmly, as Jade watches the ceiling hatch open in awe. That, too, is green. There's actually a lot of green in your apartment... Oh God. _Kermit_ is green. You stare at one of the comics, and you'll never listen to _It's Not Easy Being Grey_ the same.

So green is also, on some level, _mind-numbing terror._

Bro thankfully interrupts your train of thought as he lands, squinting at you all suspiciously. He fumbles for a coffee, and Jade ducks her head cheeks darkening, mutely admiring her own boots as the machine bubbles and hisses out a stream of thick black. Once it's done, and Bro's had a sip, Rose nudges Jade gently, smiling encouragingly to urge her forward.

"H-Hello, Mister Strider." Jade clears her throat and looks up him, eyes huge and emotional, misty and raw. She blinks a few times, sniffing and wiping her nose on the back of her arm. "My name is Jade. I'm Rose's friend, I only moved here recently."

"...Okay." He grunts, but it's in a weird soft way. Like a bear growling at a cub instead of preparing to tear prey apart.

"I asked to move!" She scuffs her boot against the ground. "See- We were looking through my great-grandpa's old things and we found some letters, and I think he never got to send them. He told my Grandma about them, and my Papa." She shifts the bag that's under her arm around, reaching into it and rifling around with a chorus of metallic clanks and toys squeaking. "He never did send them, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't get to where they were heading. It's important! He wanted them to get there and they might be late, but-"

She pulls out a stained envelope, fussing over it to try and flatten it out, then offers it.

"But maybe it's destiny, or something," Jade mumbles, as Bro lowers his mug and stares at the letter like he thinks it's going to bite him. "He thought it was. Because, um. You wrote first, didn't you? And you thought he didn't see it but he did."

The moment his eyebrows rise, his hand shakes so much you think he's going to drop the mug. He manages to put it down, taking the paper and staring at in silence for the longest time, the rest of you so quiet it's like you've all forgotten how to breathe.

"...Because maybe you wouldn't have been like that for him," Jade finishes finally, reaching up to tug at the braid her long, dark hair is woven into. "But maybe you would've been. And you might never know now, but if he could've, he would've found out. I promise. It would've been worth it, for him. He was- He was really nice. I never knew him, but I know that. He was the best great-grandpa ever and he never even knew."

Rose gently puts a hand on her shoulder as she wetly inhales, fidgeting with her rings again.

"Thank you for being real, Mister Strider. Because I never got to do anything for him, even though he's done so much for me. Thank you for being here so I could do this."

Bro puts the letter down slowly, looking at her like he's seeing her for the first time. He moves slow at first, testing the water, before he goes to touch her shoulder and Jade just thuds forward, wrapping her arms around his chest and burying her face in his shirt.

He hugs her back like he isn't sure how, and you feel Rose's fingers brush yours, closing your hand around hers and squeezing it gently, stabilising yourself and her in the same motion.

"Thank you," he rasps, the only sign he's trying not to cry. "Thank you."

The moment burns in your memory forever.

Green is heart and soul, and a chance taken no matter the risk.

Green is what you needed most.

  
-oOoOoOo-  


It's six in the morning and you haven't slept, but that's okay. The bench is hard and cold, and though you've done your best to make it comfortable, your folded jacket can only do so much. Above you the sky is a pleasant white-grey, and the green trees are caught in a breeze that makes them shiver and shake, reminding you of a promise you made to yourself silently as you helped Jade cut vegetables and bickered with Bro about whether Rose was old enough to use an oven.

The roar of traffic is just enough to keep you awake, the engines whizzing past you and over you far too loud to let your mind settle, even if it was capable of it as it is right now.

It's not.

It's racing three times as fast as the beat you tap out on your leg, at least, and speeding up all the time.

God, of all the dumb things you could do. Of all the ridiculous, risky, idiotic things you could do-

"Dave?"

You know that voice. It's etched deep in your mind and you'd know it anywhere, the way it lifts and falls, the way your name is slightly gasped, the way it bubbles up like it's a laugh. A bag hits the ground and you raise your head, chasing the voice back to a face and a body and a boy who is looking at you like you're the most beautiful thing in the world.

"John."

John Egbert runs up and lifts you clean off the ground as you manage to stand, spinning you and laughing as you hold him just as tight.

The leaves shiver in the wind, and, oh, oh, _oh-!_

And oh, the sky is _blue._

  
-oOoOoOo-  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have an [update schedule](http://khemi.tumblr.com/post/120977488997/update-schedule), so Sing a Rainbow will be updating **every Monday.** I am also taking prompts! If you want anything written (including extra scenes from this fic, or other Hammertime prompts, or anything else) just [send me an ask](http://khemi.tumblr.com/ask). :)


	4. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a boy with the bluest eyes, and he tells Dave he's his everything.
> 
> So why isn't he the same for Dave? Or all Dave thought he would be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dave continues to be 14 years old._

It's quite a while before John lets you go, and the air is chill when it replaces his warm body against you. He's still laughing, hasn't stopped since he grabbed you, and you're laughing too, giggling and snorting obnoxiously without a care in the world.

Blue is _John_ and John is _blue_ , and for once that's all you need it to mean.

"Wow." His chuckles fade to wheezes, and you look up to see him staring at the sky, before his gaze flicks to the trees and the flowers and the wood of the bench, the cars whizzing by and the buildings beyond them. His mouth is round in awe, and when he finally looks back to you his eyes are watery, and the next noise to leave him bubbles up wetly. "Wow, Dave."

His fingers stroke down your temple and his hands cup your cheeks, so much bigger than you expected. In your head you were so sure he'd be smaller than you, but he's tall and solid and has to stoop to press your foreheads together.

"...What's it like?" You ask, because you know he can  _see._ Know all that you know and all the things you don't are there in front of him, brilliant and complete.

"It's perfect," he mumbles, kissing your eyes one at a time when you close them to listen. "It's... It's like everything was always empty, and I never realised, and now it's full and wide awake and singing the most beautiful song in my heart."

"Poetic." You're one to talk, but you say it anyway, and John sighs happily before he wraps his arms around you.

"I knew it would be you," he says, and God, his voice is so sweet and so earnest. You could listen it to it for hours, you  _have_ done, but it's so much better without static and the threat of the signal dropping. From the moment you brought the idea of John visiting up with Bro, to the moment he called you and screamed about having his ticket, to right here and right now, you've never been happier.

"What do you see?" John kisses your eyelids once more before he pulls back, and you open them and sigh. He watches you fumble out your creased rainbow card, and gazes at it in wonder as you check what you're already pretty certain of, so long as no one's lied to you about the colour of the sky.

"Blue." Endless, beautiful, shimmering blue. "That's you."

It would be easy to lie to yourself, and pretend you don't see the slight falter in his smile. To act like everything is still chill, and there isn't a sting in the way he hesitates, just for a beat, before he asks carefully, " _just_ blue?"

Your smile sticks and stiffens on your face, and all you can manage is a nod.

 _Just_ blue. Because that's not enough.

You want to apologise, in that moment, to tell him you're so sorry that he came all this way to find his rainbow, and you can only give him a fraction of it back. That you're his all, but he's  _just_ blue, and he got stuck with some janky bargain-bin soulmate when you-

You guess he isn't yours.

Not exactly.

"Oh." John shrugs, but you feel every ounce of disappointment he must be hiding, eating away at you with every heavy beat of your heart. You both step back, or maybe you push him away, you can't even tell. "I'm- I'm glad I'm blue."

_I wish I was more._

"Yeah," you answer hoarsely, and clear your throat to try and choke away the sting in your nose. "It's a good- It's nice." You wave a hand towards the sky. "It's-"

_It's not enough._

You cough the words you were going to say away. Before John can ask if you're fine, you're controlling your face, hiding the tremor. "Let's get back, Bro and Rose'll want to meet you."

"...Okay," John murmurs quietly, and it's only after you duck around his outstretched arm and grab his bag that you realise he was trying to hold your hand.

-oOoOoOo-

Bro likes him. They laugh about stupid shit and tell each other bad jokes, and argue about what a bad movie is and how  _they_ clearly have the best taste, and everyone else is just wrong. Rose and Jade have stars in their eyes from the moment he starts talking, and as your sister fills page after page with notes on him, interrogating him about his curious home life, Jade is just bouncing around and so  _happy_ to meet _your_ best friend, asking if she can stay overnight  _just_ to talk to him more.

You should be happy they like him. You- You  _are_ happy they like him, but the moment John lets slip he can see colour, the whole dynamic changes, and you're going to be sick.

Bro's more engaged, serious, judging John as more than _just_ your friend. Jade's squeals are painful, and she discusses different hues with him that only they can see, about how the world is so much more than _just_ plain, now. Rose looks at you- and oh, she sees right through you, sees _just_ what you're feeling, her smile dropping as you make an excuse about needing the bathroom and slip down the hall.

You can't do this.

TG: dirk  
TG: dirk if you are there this is kind of a good time to pay attention because i am in such deep shit  
TG: i think im gonna be sick  
TG: how does shitty breakfast burrito taste on the way up  
TG: is it as bad as it did going down  
TG: will it taste better this time i wouldnt be surprised  
TG: ill be finding out pretty soon ill pass on the results as they come in  
TG: or up i guess  
TT: Dave, take a deep breath.  
TT: What's wrong?

God, what's  _right?_ This was meant to be a good day, all of this. It  _was._ Earlier you were so fucking  _happy_ and everything was perfect, because your best friend in the whole world was right there and he was real and he was something beautiful.

TG: everyone always tells me im not broken  
TG: but i cant give him what he wants  
TG: i cant even give him what im giving him  
TG: i can be that person for him but hell never be that for me  
TG: what does that mean  
TG: is it a mistake  
TG: am i a mistake  
TG: hes stuck for the rest of his life knowing hes never gonna be my rainbow  
TG: how fucked up is that  
TG: hey dude youre never gonna get another soulmate have fun with this fucked up faulty model  
TG: this guy who takes up every single part of you but you only get this tiny sliver of him  
TG: and guess what you get to share it with his sister because thats normal  
TG: his sister and the dog girl and his cousin  
TG: what a great group to boost your self esteem  
TG: i love you like a brother john tough shit if you  
TG: if im meant to  
TG: fuck

Your hands are shaking, each key hard to find, and you're amazed your spelling is being fixed fast enough to hide each fumble and error. You wonder if any of them have even noticed your gone, other than Rose- No, they're probably caught up in the moment, because wow, look at John, look at all the colours he sees in you, it  _must_ go both ways, right?

TT: Do you love him like a brother? 

You stare at Dirk's message for the longest time, something  _tick tick tick_ ingaround your head. When it stops, you just swallow thickly, and type very slowly.

TG: i dont know

You don't know. John's great, and you adore him, but- but you _adore_ Rose and Bro and Jade and Dirk and it's all in different ways, and how are you meant to tell which way is which and what means what? You think about it all, about Jade talking about Bec, Bro talking about Harley, Dirk murmuring about some boy he writes letters to- You think about it, and when you realise they only person who's ever said anything you really associate to, it's so funny you might cry.

TG: the dog  
TG: hes my fucking dog  
TG: all of you are

Bro and Dirk and John talk about intense things, overwhelming things, they talk about feeling like someone  _completes_ you. Staying up thinking about that person, seeing things that remind you of them, or pausing whole moments because they,  _that one single thing,_ would make  _everything_ better by being there. They talk about their lives being empty without that person- their lives  _being_ empty, just because that person isn't there.

Jade talks about feeling like someone makes you happy, and that all they want from you is for you to be happy too. About comfort and laughter and how even though Bec isn't here, it's okay, because other people are, and they all matter just as much-

She tells you she'd love to feel how other people do, but she doesn't.

You-

You don't.

TT: I'm going to assume that's not an insult.  
TG: johns my best friend dirk  
TG: and i care about him so much  
TG: i care about him and you and the others  
TG: and its different but its the same  
TG: and i dont feel like id die without him  
TG: i dont feel like hes some other half of me that was missing or whatever bullshit people say  
TG: hes my best friend  
TG: why isnt that enough

When you were a kid you had things figured out. You were going to find a pretty girl who you loved with all your heart, share the rainbow with her and get married. It all seemed so obvious, so simple.

Then your rainbow came all wrong, and you realised maybe  _she_ could be a  _he,_ not that you thought you minded- and your rainbow kept fracturing between faces and moments, different things captured in each broken piece. Everyone spent so long telling you it was okay, but that dream you had, John must've had it too, and while your dream fell apart because of you...

One day, is John going to look at you, and hate the fact he has to share you?

Is he ever going to ask you why he isn't everything you want?

Can you give him an answer?

TT: Dave.  
TT: That IS enough, and anyone who tells you otherwise is going to get my sword to their face.  
TT: I won't say I know how you feel, because I don't. Saying I did would be a pointless lie.  
TT: But I do know what it's like worrying if there's something wrong with you.  
TT: I think about that every single day.  
TT: What if I'm not good enough?  
TT: What if I make a mess of this?  
TT: What if I can't be what everyone wants me to be?  
TT: And I want you to know that saying that makes me feel ill. No one is meant to know this. Not even me.  
TT: But everything I do, I think about all the ways it could go wrong, and let me tell you, it fucking sucks.  
TT: The best thing Jake ever did for me is tell me that me, as I am, is good enough.  
TT: And I might have a way to go, but that doesn't mean I should hate how I am.  
TT: You are great, Dave.  
TT: You are fucking incredible.  
TT: No matter how far you still have to go, never stop realising how far you've come.  
TT: You don't see all the colours in him, or anyone else, and that's okay.  
TT: You are okay.  
TT: A rainbow is made of bands for a reason, and if each of those is something different to you, then you find what makes you happy and you make it piece by piece.  
TT: If he isn't happy with that, if anyone isn't, then I'm just sorry for them.  
TT: Because they're missing out on you being a part of their life, and even a fraction of you is better than all the colours in the world.

You choke and splutter, the text blurring into an orange mess as tears slick your burning cheeks. Words are lost to you, even if your hands were steady enough to type. You can barely draw in ragged breaths, scrubbing your eyes to clear them as he keeps typing rapidly.

TT: If you saw a pile of fragmented glass you'd think it was just a mess, right?  
TT: But add some lead and put it together in the right way and it's the face of Christ.  
TT: You aren't broken, Dave. You are a pile of glass. You are the mosaic tiles that haven't been laid into place yet.  
TT: You're still figuring out what you're going to make out of the pieces and that's okay.  
TT: Because one day you'll figure it out, and so WHAT if it isn't what everyone told you it would be?  
TT: It's going to be you.  
TT: And no matter who you are, what you feel, for fuck's sake Dave.  
TT: You are radical as shit.

Orange is something you're not worthy of, sometimes.

TG: you really think that  
TT: Yes.  
TT: I really do.

You grab a towel and clean your face as best you can once the tears stop, hiccuping painfully until it settles in your chest and you can breathe. You don't know what to say. Dirk was so quiet and awkward, once, and to see him drop all of that at once makes you realise how far you've both come, together, and how happy you are that he's such a big part of your life.

He's your rock, or something equally emotive.

TG: thanks

It's all you can manage, but you know it's enough.

There's a soft knock at the door, and as you tuck your phone away and call out, Rose opens it and slips in, looking you and the towel over and worrying her fingers together.

"...Everyone is worried, Dave. John... wants to know if he's done something that upset you."

You look at her, and despite the urge to dismiss it, to laugh it away, your face sets.

"Yeah." You nod, rubbing your bent legs. "I know he didn't mean to, but he did."

"Do you want to talk about it?" She gently closes the door, moving over and kneeling in front of you, her hands resting gently on your knees. You laugh at that, softly. Rose is so much younger than you, still a kid, but she always puts you first, doesn't she? Always does her best to make it better.

And that's why she's violet, you suppose.

Because she's the one who holds you when you feel like you're alone.

"I want to talk to John." There's so much to try and explain. So much you hope he understands. "And- all of you, I guess, someday. But John for now."

"I can get-"

"I dunno, doing it on the floor in the bathroom doesn't seem that fun." You wave a hand at her, standing unsteadily and pausing to stretch your legs. "I'll... I'll sort it out. It's my shit, Rose. I want to do this myself."

She nods understandingly, but catches your arm lightly, giving you a small smile.

"You know I'm here for you, Dave."

"...'Course I do."

Rose lets you go, and you take a breath, and head out with your head held as high as you can manage.

-oOoOoOo-

John sits and watches you pace, quietly letting you think of what to say, and you appreciate it. The guilt and concern that's raw in his eyes means a lot to you, that honest understanding that he did something that hurt. Even if you step on a foot accidentally, it still hurts like a bitch, as Bro always told you. You're glad John got that without needing told.

"You- You're blue to me," you start eventually, stopping in front of him and clapping your hands together. "Yeah, John, blue, only blue- but not _just_ blue. There's no... no _just_ about it. You mean so much to me, like- holy shit, I don't even know if I can tell you how much. You're my best friend, and I- I love you. But I don't think I'm _in_ love with you.'

'But that isn't- it's not nothing, it's not like it's worth less. You know how happy you make me? Man I flip my shit when you get online, always, it's one of the highlights of my day. One of them, because... Yeah. I have other people- colours- whatever you wanna say, I have them too. But that doesn't make any of you matter less. You don't matter less. You aren't _just_ blue, John, you're the whole sky, and my world wouldn't be the same without you. So what if you're... a part of something. You're a part of something I'm lucky as fuck to have, and I can't imagine what it's like only having one person, I can't imagine feeling like you say you do, but I don't wish I did, because this, how I feel now, is pretty great, okay? I... I like feeling this way."

You stop to breathe, and he's staring at you so attentively, teeth leaving dents in his lip, and though he looks like he's trying so hard to understand, he doesn't look angry, or upset.

God, _please._

"I just want you to know you aren't second to me, or less to me, or anything. You're my best bro, John. And even if I'm not in love with you, I still love you, so much, okay? And I'm really happy I'm your rainbow, I'm so happy I can be that for you, but I don't want you to hate me because I... because I don't work the same way."

"I don't hate you," he blurts urgently, blushing as he sheepishly ducks his head. "I'm sorry I made you think it wasn't enough, Dave, I mean. Wow! I'm blue to you, I'm something that fate or the universe or something decided was going to have a big place in your life." He looks up, and his smile is small but earnest. "Even if I hadn't been anything at all on some stupid chart, just being here, just you _wanting_ me here, that makes me the luckiest guy in the world, okay?"

"You hurt me, earlier," you mumble, and John nods with a flash of guilt across his face.

"I know. I didn't think, and I'm sorry- But I'll try not to do it again. I promise."

You believe him. Holy shit, relief floods through you, because you _believe_ him.

"I am in love with you," John hazards, tapping his fingers together one at a time. "I am, and that's... really great, actually. You make everything better, and you did even before it was colourful. Even if you hadn't, I would've loved you. Is... Is that okay? It's not too much, is it?"

"Are you ever gonna force me to feel the same?"

"No!" He shakes his head, hands splitting and raising quickly. "No, Dave. I just want to be here with you. To be there for you. If it makes you happy, what we have, then I'm happy too."

"You don't know you always will be." The thought is still lingering, no matter how much better you feel now. John's shoulders slump, and he nods.

"But I know that I want to try. I want to do what it takes, because yeah, we're kids, and there's a lot to go through, but colours are forever and- and if things were grey, maybe I wouldn't be so sure. Maybe I'd have doubts. But I know that we're both meant to be together, and even if it's in different ways, even if we're getting and giving different things, I can see a rainbow and it's a promise that this is worth trying for."

"Sometimes I wish we were in a place where it wasn't set in stone, though. It's kind of... scary, isn't it? We're fourteen and we already know all this shit for sure."

John falls silent, and you both look at each other, before he smiles and shrugs.

"This is how it is, though. If stuff's gonna be set in stone, I'm glad it's with you, Dave."

You move over, and sit beside him, and close your eyes when his fingers tangle with yours. For a moment, nothing matters but that. The heat, the softness, the way his fingers are long and slender and yours are short and rougher, and the contrast is wonderful in a way that you doubt you'd let most people close enough to feel. Out of everyone, out of all of them, John is something closer, and softer. He's a laugh and a smile when you need it most, a shoulder to lean on and a hand that flew across the country just to be here, tangled with yours.

"I'm just glad you're here," you whisper, and John leans in, trembling as his breath falters against your cheek. When he bumps his lips to your skin it's quick and nervous, and it makes you laugh, face burning and fingers squeezing tight.

"Wow." You cover your mouth to stifle the giggles. "Oh my God, _John."_

"Sorry," he babbles, going to let go. "Sorry, that was so lame, I'm sorry-"

John is ridiculous, and you _do_ love him. It might not be that great burning love you expected, but he's your best friend, he's the dip to your chip, and there's a lot of things you trust him with that you wouldn't trust others with, or- well, y'know. It'd be pretty fucked up to trust Rose or Bro or Dirk with it.

You catch his cheek with your hand, and you lean to him, pushing your pouted lips against his for a second that seems to last forever. When you fall back, his whole face is a dark grey, and both of you stare at each other until he cracks up, and you follow suit, laughing just as freely as you did when you first met him.

Everything feels good again, and though there are worries to face later, things you need to figure out, this is a good start.

You are Dave Strider, and you are _not_ broken.

You catch John's cheeks and kiss him again and again, and he's _blue,_ and your friend, and that's _enough._

-oOoOoOo-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late chapter! I couldn't get it to flow and E3 knocked me right out of the zone (quiet screaming about FFVII) but here we are! To keep up to date on any delays you can [follow me on Tumblr](http://khemi.tumblr.com/), I'll always post a heads up :)


	5. Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the colour isn't as important as what it's going to mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dave is 20 years old._
> 
> Please take a moment to listen to [**this**](http://www.infinitelooper.com/?v=8ZghnAtizTs&p=n#/0;400) while you read. I listened to it while writing this and I feel like somehow it captures a lot of the feelings I wanted to be in this chapter. Thank you.
> 
> -

It starts as a joke, really. You're sitting at the reception after watching some family friend of John's tie the knot, the two of you sipping cheap champagne and watching the stars creep out as the sunset fades away. John's hand is over yours, warm and comforting, his fingers tracing the scars across your palm and chasing away the feeling of discomfort that always lingers after people tell you how perfect you are together, how in love you must be, how they wish they'd had their rainbow at your age and oh, you must be so happy-

But the words are more empty now, and you've got this. You know where you stand, and so does he.

He pulls your hand to his cheek and rubs your knuckles to his skin, making you wriggle at the stubble that scrapes at you. John's a pain in the ass, but he's- he's  _your_ pain in the ass, and though it's hard sometimes, he's stayed with you and learned how to be with you, learned what's enough and what's too much. He knows when a joke becomes a flirt you can't handle, knows that when you roll over and sleep at distance it's nothing to do with not being happy as you are, knows that the days you can't hold his hand in public because of the implications people throw at you are just bad days, days you can't quell that unease in your stomach, and that it's never, never  _his_ fault.

John knows he'll never understand, not quite, but he tries so hard to make sure he listens, that he never lets those colours in his eyes get in the way of seeing  _you._

He's the best friend you've ever had, and you're glad he's still here with you. Glad that when you moved to Seattle you were looking for a shared place, and that when you moved all your things in they all blurred together with his to make something new and for both of you. Glad that he sits and listens to you mix new songs before trying out a new routine on you, and that when he gets home and whines about coding issues you give him just as much attention as he does when you excitedly babble about the latest specimen to come into the Burke.

Between old bones and new friends, your life is going pretty fucking great, really. Even now, stuck at a ritualised celebration of all the feelings you don't get, John is with you and keeping you sane.

"I hate the fact there's this big thing about eternal love and nothing about just... eternal being chill with each other." You don't even mean to say it out loud, but it's easy to let things slip out with him, always has been. "Like where's our big party for our incredible relationship? Just 'cause I don't go all goo-goo over you and my heart isn't learning tap dance when your eyes light up a room or whatever happens to normal people."

He smiles at you, and it starts as a joke.

"We should totally get married, Dave, but like... friend married. A wedding to celebrate bromance. An eternal vow of hanging out together and being the coolest of the cool." He grins when you give a tiny nod, a  _this is okay, man, I'm cool with this topic_ nod, even though you know a few years ago you wouldn't have been. "Imagine our vows! I promise to never watch cheap comedies with you in the room, except for that one time a month you promised me movie night together. I promise to never leave you hanging, and always see every up high and down low through to completion, no matter how busy I might be _._ "

"I promise to tell you your jokes are great, even when they're only mediocre, but do it with an expression that tells you what I really think." You nudge him, scrunching up your nose as you pull your lips out flat, and John snorts.

"I don't  _have_ bad jokes, Dave. Sheesh. Well-  _I_ promise to act like I'm  _not_ freaked out by the dead things over the bed, even when you give them weird names and talk to them when you think I can't hear you."

"Hey, are you insulting Leonard and Tallulah? What did they ever do to you, John?"

"Stared at me with their glassy, unseeing eyes." He shudders, recoiling from their imagine visages. "It kind of ruins a lot of pillow talk moments when I roll over and there's some cow fetus watching us, Dave. That's not a thing most people have to worry about."

"Well, when have we  _ever_ been  _most people?_ "

He laughs, and holds your hand tighter.

"If you want a big thing like this you can have it, though. It doesn't have to be what people want it to be, Dave, just about you and me." John's smile slips, and you see his cheeks get dark as his gaze drops away. "It'd be pretty cool to make that promise to you, to be around forever. If it was too much for you I get it, though, I know some stuff... that things get overwhelming. And that's okay, you know that's okay! But this is cool, what we've got. Even if we never have some party for it, I want you to know I'll be here, be doing this, as long as you let me. That's a promise."

"I'll hold you to it," you mumble, wondering for the millionth time in your life what sort of crazy day the universe was having when it decided you got to have someone like him in your life. Sometimes-  _sometimes-_ you do wish you could love him like he loves you. Then he reminds you that it isn't  _better_ that way, that you're wonderful already, and you smack his shoulder and tell him to stop with his fuzzy bullshit before you vomit.

...You hope he never really stops.

"You wanna get married?" He asks you, managing to meet your gaze.

You swallow hard, but the nausea doesn't come, because you trust him to not make this about something you can't give.

"Yeah." You nod once, then again, because for all you worry you can't give John, a promise to stick around for good is something that sounds pretty easy to keep. "Yeah, that'd be cool."

John rubs the glass he's holding between his knees, then picks it up and raises it to you.

"Fuck normativity," he toasts, and you snicker, and raise your drink in return.

You hum as the rims meet. "To the Mythicals, and long may we prosper."

-oOoOoOo-

Bro arrives first, after John arranges it without telling you, and he sweeps you off the floor as soon as you open the door to find him there without warning, Rose and Jade collecting their bags from the truck behind him. He's laughing, and you start laughing, and hold tight to him, unsure when your nose starts stinging and the laughter gets wet.

You missed him so much, missed all of them, and when he holds you the world glitters through your tears, the grey that's somehow  _him_ seeming to light up with new life. He drops you and puts his hands on your shoulder, and smiles so big and broad that he barely looks like Bro at all.

"I'm so proud of you," he tells you, and you choke out a sob, because man, those words still mean just as much now as they did when you were seven. "Look at you, Dave."

You do look, all the time. See the smile and the way you don't hide your eyes anymore, because people can stare if they want, they can waste their time wondering about how your eyes came to be that way, you don't  _care._ They're part of you, and if you have learned anything in your life, it's to be  _proud._ Proud of your flaws, your differences, the things that make you Dave. All the bands that wind together in you to make a rainbow that glows brightest when you laugh and take a running leap into the future with your family and friends there beside you.

You are  _blinding,_ and no one can tell you different, not even yourself. Bad days will come, and you'll have your doubts, but you'll rise again despite them. This life is yours, and you haven't finished making it yet, haven't finished putting that broken glass into place, but you will. You  _will,_ and when you do, you won't do it alone.

"I'm getting married, Bro," you mumble, waving your hand at him, and the plain silver band on it that means so much. You're getting married, and it's nothing like you thought it was going to be, when you were a kid. You didn't fall in love, it isn't with the prettiest girl ever, and it's not for the sake of colours.

It's so much better than all of that.

"Yeah you are," he drags you close again, crushes the air from your lungs, but it's okay. You'd only use those breaths to cry. "You're all grown up, Dave. Up here and- and happy." He's speaking just as thickly as you are, and that has you whimpering, everything blurred out of focus. "I'm so proud of you, I am-  _so_ proud."

"Me too," you whisper, burying your head in his shoulder.

The moment is long, and warm, and endless in your memory. When he lets go he takes off his cap, wiping his eyes on the back of his arm and smiling at you. There's lines on his face, now, deeper and full, but they're echoes of old smiles, of the soft curve of his eyes and the pride on his lips, they're good memories that have shaped him and shaped you just the same. He isn't as flawless as your memories make him, but no one is, not really. You're glad to have a moment you just see him as he is, and it's enough. All of this, all of it, it's _enough_.

"That's my boy." Bro reaches out and messes up your hair, and for an instant you're a kid climbing onto his lap with a sticker from school, and he's murmuring the words in a brighter voice, once laced with less emotion, less time.

"...Take after my Dad." For the first time in your life, the word slips out naturally, and you crack a nervous smile. "He did good with me."

His eyes shine, and they shine so brightly. You'd think they were a colour if they weren't just the same as always. It sounds stupid, but even though they've never changed, you guess that one shade of grey is still him, in some weird way. Some part of the rainbow, still.

"Yeah, well, he was still probably an ass. Come on- Where's John? I need to hug him and then probably give him some embarrassing  _talk-_ "

Bro slides past you, dumping his bag by the couch as he goes off calling John's name, and you've barely managed to dry your eyes before Jade is grabbing you, and Rose it prying her back carefully before you choke.

"Dave!  _Dave!_ " Jade's grown again, dammit, she's going to be a giant by the time she's through. Her bag keeps slipping off her shoulder and she keeps catching it, not seeming to know it's her own hopping from foot to foot that's knocking it straight back down. Everything about her is excitement, raw and earnest, just like it always was and just like you always hope it will be, 'cause that's _Jade,_ pure and simple, and Jade is great as she is.

"Well good morning to you too, Miss Harley. You gonna keep up that tap-dance on my porch or you actually gonna come in?"

She giggles and wiggles past you, tossing her bag on top of Bro's and staring around you house in wonder. It was a recent acquisition, one you're proud of. Still a little bare around the edges, bigger than your apartment was, but you know you'll fill it up with memories and trinkets until it's bursting at the seams.

Rose steps up and puts her hands on your shoulders, lifting herself up to plant a dark kiss to your cheek. You smile at her, and though her expression is more contained than Bro's, you still know when to tell your sister is feeling emotional under her carefully maintained foundation.

"You should have heard him on the way here, Dave. I haven't heard his tongue so loose in years." She steps in when you move aside, and as you close the door you can feel her surveying the room, taking in all the little details like only Rose can. Jade, meanwhile, has launched onto the couch, and is bouncing on it as she snaps pictures of your home, and snapping a series of images of you sneaking up behind Rose and hoisting her up in a hug that has her squealing.

"Hell no, you don't get away without a hug." You squeeze and she squeaks, but you're both laughing when you put her down. "I'm glad you came. All of you, I mean. I didn't know if-"

"If we were busy?" You're fixed in her disbelieving violet stare, Jade's snort just as incredulous. "With what? It would have to be the end of the world before we missed something like this, Dave. You know that."

"Yeah. I mean, I do, I just..."

You voice trails away, and there's a pause before she speaks.

"...Dirk couldn't make it."

"Nah." You won't let it ruin your mood, so you try to shrug it off, even when you feel the weight settle back in your stomach. "You know what it's like, being one of  _those_ Striders, right? All the jet-setting, all the events. Guess he's off at some premiere somewhere. Like David's gonna break his schedule for me."

"It has more to do with his agents and the pressure he's put under than what he wants, Dave." Rose touches your arm and your shoulders shift. "I'm sure they would be here if they could."

"Maybe."

She starts to say something else, but John bursts in, giggling madly, your child clutched in his arms. Okay, well. Casey is referred to exclusively as your daughter, despite being a small bubbly lizard who in mainly John's. Somehow the image of her as the child you are both in no way sensible enough to actually raise just stuck. She is wearing her bridesmaid dress, because of course John insisted your sweet daughter would come to the wedding, but that's a lot less urgent than the look of utter evil glee on the face of your soon-to-be-husband.

John has done something terrible. You feel it in your gut.

_Oh no._

"Egbert!" You lunge for him but he successfully rolls under your arm, busting the door open and escaping onto the lawn. A moment later Bro is in the room, sword in his hand and what you can smell from  _here_ is shaving cream smeared all over him. He doesn't make a sound, but the wild look in his eye has both you and Rose stepping out of his path as he stalks after John.

" _Think of the child!_ " You hear your boyfriend screech, followed by the spray of the hose. God, if Bro kills him... To be honest, you wouldn't be surprised, but he could at least do it out back where no one will see.

"Well," Rose observes pleasantly. "My dress will still look just as wonderful at the funeral." _  
_

Jade vanishes past you both, waving her camera and excitedly babbling about  _having to get this on film,_ and Rose soon follows, covering her mouth as she watches the slaughter. You fidget and look to their bags, listen to the screams and laughter and cheers from outside, and just close your eyes to soak it in.

For the first time since you left Texas, you're  _home._

You blink yourself back to awareness as John yells about his precious face, and with a sigh you collect your sword from the umbrella stand by the door, heading out to make sure the man you're going to marry remains in one piece.

-oOoOoOo-

"Funny, isn't it? How things don't go how you thought."

You look over at Bro as he leans on the rail around the decking, his eyes peering out at your yard through the haze of the smoke he slowly exhales. The sky is black tonight, clear and stark in contrast, and the light of the moon has his outline glowing neon against the dark.

"I'm pretty happy with this," you tell him, leaning your cider against the rail. "It's a good life."

"It is." He smiles softly, turning his head enough to glance over his shoulder as you hear Jade and Rose laughing loudly at another one of John's awful jokes. "This family used to be a mess, back when it started. You probably don't remember, you were pretty small, but I wasn't ready for it. Wasn't ready for a lot."

"You did a good job, Bro," you remind him, and he laughs.

"Guess so. But you did too, y'know? With Rose, with John, even Dirk- Hell, definitely with me. I dunno if we should count Jade, she just kinda crashed in one day and stuck." He sighs. "But you did a lot, Dave. Kept it together, even when I couldn't, even when it shouldn't've been your job to. This all here, this grand thing, it's something I never thought we'd get. So thank you. Thank you for being you, 'cause damn. No one else could've pulled it off."

"I'd hope not." It's easier to laugh than face what he said, so you both do, and look away from each other to hide your expressions. Shit. How do you even respond to that? "...Was mostly you. I just... followed the example I was set, y'know? Went with the flow. It was pretty easy to do the right thing when you showed me how."

"I didn't show you how to do this." The white lines of him shift in the corner of your eye, his gaze warming your cheeks. "Can't show you what I can't do, Dave, and this... This is something I could never do. You weren't given what anyone expected, and most people would've cracked, but you- you made it  _work,_ without giving up who you are. You didn't try to be something you aren't. Just took everything as it came and found the most in every colour, even when people made you feel it wasn't enough. You never- never acted like you were missing something. Just that you were finding something new."

"I'm not broken," you tell him, and it feels so good to say it without a pause or a stutter, without anything but faith. "I'm just Dave."

"Dave is pretty great," he smiles, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder.

"Took me a while to realise it, but I guess he is. With his stupid best bro he's gonna tie the knot with and their lizard kid, and this weird family that's great no matter what anyone thinks." You glance at him pointedly. "This Dave guy's doing alright, ain't he? Him and all the colours of his strange life."

Bro drags on the cigarette and breathes it out, a wash of silver against the sky.

"Every day I count my blessings that I got the kids I did. All of you, too- Jade counts in a  _Jade_ way." He taps the ash out into the glass he's holding, sighing out through his nose. "It's weird, when I look back. I know I never had this," he pauses long enough to touch the cloud, still on his lapel after all this time, "but looking back... Met your Ma 'cause I was drunk after the world went grey. Met Lalonde at a wildlife exhibit in a wing they named after him. And Jade came in 'cause... cause he sent her, somehow, even though he didn't know her. Even though he didn't know me."

The wind picks up, the grass whispering in the breeze.

"Maybe I did get it, Dave. What I needed. Not what I wanted, but what I _needed_." He holds up a finger, gesturing at nothing. "I thought what I needed was that rainbow, but that wasn't it; I needed all it led to. All the choices I'd never have made without it. Just because I never got him doesn't mean he didn't shape me, even if he never did it knowingly. Ain't that funny? He was my rainbow because he was the most important person in my life, but for a long time I never got what that  _meant._ It didn't mean I lost out, by not being with him. Didn't mean something was missing."

"It means you found something new."

He glances your way, then smiles softly.

"I wasn't gonna have kids. Wasn't gonna live like this. I was gonna go travel, go down to the Amazon, go to the Savannah; and yeah, that life sounds pretty cool, but this...  _this_ was my adventure. _You_ were my adventure."

The night is warm, other than the cold cider in your hands, and the air is alive with the chirp and hum of life that slumbers in the sun. Your best friend, your sister, and the best bro you could ever have are laughing inside, and Bro is looking at you with something in his eyes that you feel like you've always seen, but have never really noticed.

That grey that's always been there, it wasn't grey at all, was it?

His eyes are glowing, all shades of orange and bronze and something else that was there all along.

"It's been a hell of a ride, kid." Bro blinks, and his cheeks are wet, the glow slowly dulling down but still taking your breath away. "Can't wait to see what you do next."

You laugh, and move to hold him, to just press to his chest and feel what you've always felt, the beat of his heart and the way he curves to let you in closer. The way every part of him adjusts for you, just like everything he does, making sure you're as happy and comfortable as you can be.

When you let go, you wipe your eyes and fumble out the paper from your pocket, old and creased and faded with age. Still, that sparkle, that fading luminescence, it's enough for you to see which ink is lit, and you laugh again, louder, wetter and brighter all at once.

"Yellow." You draw in a ragged breath, and grin up at him as he finishes scrubbing his own tears away. "Oh God, fuck. You're yellow."

"I'm-" He blinks and looks at you, and his eyes widen, the lines on his face shifting as he stares at you like you're a ghost. Slowly, fingers trembling, Bro touches your cheeks and just holds you, gaze darting back and forth between your eyes before the water in his wells up too much and he has to blink away the blur.

"Bro?"

"Oh wow." He drops the cigarette, totters back and puts the glass down with a shake that makes it rattle before he lets go, then just clasps his own cheeks and looks up at the sky. "Oh. _Oh._ "

He's laughing, and when he drops his gaze he catches your face roughly in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours and choking on sobs and snorts that mix and blur into one. You touch his hands as his eyes focus on yours, big and yellow and just the same. That one special grey that's always been him. That yellow that was there for you since you began.

"Your eyes are red, Dave," he tells you, shoulders shaking with another laugh. "Your eyes are  _red._ "

You don't get it, for a second, before you  _do,_ and all the air rushes out of you as you grasp his hands tightly.

"You can see-?"

" _I can see._ " He splutters out a laugh. "I can see it, I can see them- I can see-"

"What was there this whole time," you whisper, and he closes his eyes, then opens them again quickly like he's afraid the world might have changed again.

"It's not meant to work like this," Bro mumbles, and you shake your hands, squeezing his hands tightly and pulling them down, pressing them to his chest.

"Fuck normativity." You'll have that tattooed across your heart, in all the colours of your rainbow. "We are magical, and Mythical, and we are real. Who cares how it's  _meant_ to be, when this is how it  _is._ I'm the boy with the coloured threads and you're the man who got two rainbows-" Two rainbows,  _two rainbows,_ he has back that glow and somehow it came from  _you-_ "-and whatever the world thinks, we are _here_ , and we are _alive_ , and this is  _our moment._ "

Yellow is a dream that you never let go.

It's the sun that rose each day, no matter what happened, no matter where you were.

The eyes than always watched you, as you grew, and saw what you could be.

"My moment's long passed," he dismisses, though his gaze is everywhere, on the house and the grass and your shirt and your face and your eyes-

"Only if you let it be."

You're looking at each other for the first time, seeing what life gave you, seeing the most important person in your lives. You're crying and laughing and you. Are.  _Alive._

Fuck the world and fuck the rules, you are here to stay.

You fall back into each other's arms and let everything overwhelm you, until you finally manage to part and just cling to each others arms, sharing another moment that will never fade, another sight you'll treasure forever. Bro lets go and runs inside to look at Rose, to pick her up and spin her and tell her how much she means to him. To crush John and tell him that you are the best thing he's ever gonna get and he better treat you right.

To look at Jade, into her eyes, and just kiss her forehead and thank her for  _everything._

You pick out all the yellow you'd always known but never seen, and everything shines with gold.

-oOoOoOo-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are never broken, not if it takes you years to get over something you lost, not if you feel nothing; not if you can't love like others do, not if you can't see people how you're told you should; not if you are alone and not if you find you have more red threads than you are told you are allowed.
> 
> All of you who have told me how much this means to you, this fic, I want you to know that you are real, you are valid, you are whole.
> 
> _You are not broken,_ and I love you all.


	6. Indigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indigo doesn’t appear unexpectedly- Indigo has waited, and Dave means more to it than he ever thought he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dave continues to be 20 years old._
> 
>  
> 
> There is sexual content in this chapter, but ace friends who may not want to read, you can **skip everything after the third scene!** It is non-plot essential just for this purpose. :)

“She’s yellow.”

John watches you hold Casey close to your face, nuzzling her little scaled head. She looks no different, but you love knowing what she is, love having a name to it and knowing all that name means. Your lizard daughter flicks her tongue to your skin, blinking slowly when you settle her back on your lap and turn your attention to John instead, watching him fidget with the suit hanging on your bedroom door.

“You okay?” You worry about him, when he gets quiet like this. There’s all these little tells you’ve learned, since you started living together; everything from the tap of his fingers against his thighs to the way he catches his lip under his teeth the quickly swipes his tongue over the redness the moment it slips free. Small things that pass most people by, but shine like a beacon to you, glowing and impossible to ignore. Whispers saying _John isn’t okay, something’s up, whoa man this has to be fixed ‘cause John Egbert ain’t allowed to be left upset when he could’ve been cheered up._

Sometimes he needs his space, and that’s fine too. But those tells- they don’t tend to come unless it’s something he doesn’t want to be choking on.

John blinks, slowly, dropping the sleeve of his suit and giving you a long look. He surveys you, gaze lingering on your feet before his eyes are drawn back inexorably to lock with yours.

“...You’re not just doing this for me, right?” He swallows, falters, then forces out, “I haven’t… made you feel like you have to?”

“What? No, Jesus, _John_ -” You carefully scoop Casey up onto your shoulder before you stand and cross the room to him, taking his hand and pulling it to your lips. “No. This is for _us,_ I want this too, okay? I thought you knew that.”

“I’ve always wanted to know you were okay with everything, that I was… was doing things with you in mind. I know you said it was okay, but I worry that you’re just trying to make me happy, that you think it’s something you can… can _stomach_ , not something you _really_ want.”

“John,” you answer flatly, squeezing his hand tightly, “you trust me, right?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then trust me when I say if I didn’t _want_ this, we wouldn’t be doing it. I know I went along with you a lot when I was a kid, but I’m not a kid anymore. I know you’re not going to think this is something that it’s not, and I know that you’re someone I want to spend my life with. Not being in love with you doesn’t change that.”

It doesn’t, and you’re certain of it. You’ve spent more than your fair share of nights laying awake and looking at his face, asking yourself the same questions he’s asking you now. There’s a lot of doubt, on the bad days, a lot of worries that maybe you _don’t_ know what you want, and you can’t deny that.

But then John cracks open an eye, shuffles closer, and when his arms circle your waist you realise that being here, with him, is just where you need to be.

He’s your best friend, the one and only Blue Team to your Red, and he took the time to take the space in his life that the universe made for you and carve it into a shape that would fit you the best he could. He educated himself, he stayed with you even when you couldn’t bear for him to touch you, and he never hated you for anything you are, anything you’ve done.

He loves you with all his heart, and that’s okay, just like it’s okay that when you say he’s your best friend you don’t mean anything more than exactly what it sounds like.

You’ve thought about this all so much, and you’re certain of what you want.

“John- No, I’m not marrying you because I love you, never was, dude. I’m marrying you because I, Dave Strider, would like to spend the rest of my life on the couch of you, John Egbert, and going to sleep with you in the same bed after we stay up way too late laughing at some shitty film, and sometimes holding hands on the days it’s okay to because I do not have to be in love with you to want those things and I do not have to be in love with you for you to make me so fucking happy I could die.”

You’re slightly out of breath, so you draw one in and purse your lips at him firmly. John’s face is dark, and he rubs the back of his head, fingers slipping between yours and squeezing.

“It’s a promise, right? To stay with you, come sickness or health, come blue or come grey. I want that, John. Just because I’m the way I am doesn’t mean I should be refused the right to want that.” You’re holding him tightly, like he might disappear if you don’t, but he lets you, eyes wide and earnest as they shine at you. “I don’t want to be treated like I’m confused, okay? Maybe this isn’t what people expected me to do but it’s what I’m gonna do. Fuck what they think. All I care about is- is this. What we’ve got right here. And this is great, this has been the greatest thing for years! That doesn’t mean I’ve changed how I feel, I’m not caving in, it just means that wow, I’m allowed to love my best friend in this way that I do, and I’m allowed to want to keep doing that forever.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, voice cracking at the end. He has to stop, drawing in an unsteady breath. “Yeah, okay- thank you. I just- needed to hear that, I guess. I don’t ever want to force you, Dave.”

“You’re not,” you promise him softly, leaning up on the balls of your feet to kiss his cheek and trying to stay steady enough Casey doesn’t make an escape. “Just ‘cause I don’t do romance doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything. I feel good about you in a way that isn’t romantic, because whoa, John, that’s possible. Look at me being all up in your face without wanting to shower you in roses and cut my heart out for you or whatever it is other people do.”

John covers his mouth, stifling a giggle, and swats at you when you waggle your eyebrows at him, knowing the laugh means you won this conversation. His revenge is to kidnap your daughter, who he puts on top of his head before carefully leaning down to peck your nose.

“You’re such a dork,” he mumbles.

“I’m _your_ dork,” you reply. “Well- partially. But let’s be real, you got a pretty good slice of the ol’ Dave pie.”

“I wish I’d been green, though. That’s the best colour.”

“Well you and Harley can go duke it out on the roof and we’ll see if the universe respects the wishes of the victor.”

John pulls you close and laughs into your hair, and you rub his back until he settles, just holding you in place with a slight sway to the movement, like you’re lingering on the edge of breaking into dance. You don’t, luckily, and instead you just settle there, listening to his heart beat and feeling just a little more certain that this is the man you’ll sit beside for all the rest of this crazy ride called life.

-oOoOoOo-

You played rock, paper, scissors to decide who got to stand inside and who got shown in. John’s Dad (who you _know_ is called James but who is yet to let you call him anything except Mister Egbert) and Bro had a whole face-off about who got to lead their blushing son down the aisle, and demanded a decision, so you gave them one, and now here you are lingering outside the door in your white suit, fiddling with the flower Jade made you, a rainbow of paper petals that are mostly lit and you keep fondly running your fingers over.

You can hear music, and it sense a shiver down your spine. In a few minutes you’re gonna waltz in there and marry John, and he’s gonna put a fancy blue ring on your finger while you put a rainbow one straight back on him.

It’s going to be amazing.

Bro glances at his watch again, the fancy Rolex Mr Egbert gave him in some weird passive-aggressive show of Fatherly Love, which Bro responded to by giving him a new set of baking trays, all individually wrapped. It was intense. Something you’re pleased you got to witness, because that meant you got to laugh at John’s embarrassment when he whined about it later.

He also whined about how well you clean up in a suit, and how well his Dad and Bro do too, and complained endlessly in the car here about how he looks awkward in comparison. You told him as many times as he let you that he looks _amazing,_ and by the end his responses had descended into incredibly mature things like “well your _face_ looks _amazing_ ,” and the ever popular sticking his tongue out.

You are about to marry that man.

Oh lanta, you have _no_ regrets.

“You ready?” Bro’s voice snaps you back to reality, and you nod at him, flashing him a nervous grin. “If you wanna scream or something, now’s the time.”

“I’m cool, I’m chill. I’m so ready for this. So ready.” You do some kind of little jig between your feet, which doesn’t exactly give the appearance of you being anything _near_ cool. Sure you’re feeling anxious, but somehow it’s a _good_ anxious, if that even makes sense to anyone but you. You’re just so happy you could explode.

“What are we even waiting for?” You ask to distract him, and Bro snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Well you ain’t getting married without a best man.”

“I thought-” You stop, screwing your nose up at him. “Dirk can’t make it, you were meant to be doing that shit for me.”

“Yeah, no.” He shakes his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’d love to do that but I’m not down with you getting your second choice. Might’ve had a long talk with some people, sorted some shit, talked some smack.”

“You spoke to David?” The hope creeps in before you can hope to stop it, and his lazy smile is all the reply you need. “They’re _coming?_ ”

“Yeah, and we aren’t going in until they get here. Assholes cut it pretty close with the flight, but it’ll be any minute.” He looks at the entrance like he’s willing it to open with his eyes, and goddamn does the God of shitty cliches shine down upon you, because the doors burst apart and Dirk stands dramatically in the doorway with his hair messed up by wind and his tie on backwards.

He looks _glorious._

“Calm your tits, for I have _arrived._ ” He flips his hair and sends it even more out of place, as Bro rushes forward to fuss with his tie and right it. “Dad and Jake are gonna be here any minute, they didn’t want to run here for some stupid reason- don’t they know we’ve got hitchin’ to do?”

“Oh my God,” Bro whispers, but you’re laughing, clasping your hands over your mouth and rushing to hug him the moment Bro moves.

“I didn’t think you were gonna be here!” You squeeze him, ignoring the feel of Bro neatening Dirk’s hair over your head. “Hell fucking _yes,_ this is the _best day_!”

All of your colours, all in one place, and your smile is so big you could burst.

“Well _I_ wasn’t gonna miss this, and if Ambrose hadn’t talked Dad into growing a backbone I was planning to sneak away. Jake’s pretty sure he could’ve flown us here with only a minor crash landing. We would’ve been fine.” Dirk ruffles up your hair then quickly smoothes it back down, smirking at you when you pull back. “Wouldn’t miss this. Wouldn’t miss you.”

“You go on in,” Bro nudges you both pointedly, nodding at Dirk. “There’s this whole big shindig after for you to talk, but I sure as hell don’t need James Egbert kicking my ass ‘cause he had to play the piano so long his hands went numb.”

“He’s actually playing? He never heard of a player, or-?”

“ _Egbert,_ ” you and Bro say in unison, like it explains absolutely everything. Dirk glances between you in bemusement, but he lets go, flashing you a wink before he slips past you both and quietly absconds into the room with a brief swell of music before the door shuts.

You’re back to fiddling with your rose when the entrance opens again, far more sedately, and only glance up long enough to see David rush past with a wave, pursued by a short man who gives you some ridiculous toothy grin and flicks his hands at you like guns. They vanish and you take a breath, glancing back down at the rose before you step up beside Bro, and-

_And-_

You look down at the rose again.

The glow around the petals is still fresh and raw, three of them burning with something between blue and violet. You touch one, fingers trembling, patting your pants frantically with your other hand until you draw out the rainbow and stare at it in silence.

“Oh hell no,” Bro elbows you. “ _Now?_ Right _now?_ Son of a bitch, Dave, couldn’t you’ve had this after?”

“Sorry,” you mutter back, but it’s with excitement in the word, bubbling away under the attempt at being serious. You could hear the lightness in his voice, too, and he leans over curiously until you wave the paper at him.

“Indigo.” It’s a weird word, and you always wondered what it’d look like. Now you know. It’s a Hollywood smile and a dorky set of hands, and eyes that were, despite what you’ve come to expect, _green._ “That guy-”

“Think that’s Jake,” Bro informs you off-handedly, as you quickly slip the paper away and tug at the rose.

“I’ll need to talk to him, after all this is through.”

“And you will, but for _now,_ you’ve got a husband to get, and _that-_ ” He raises a finger as the music changes, swiping your arm and holding it, “-is a _wedding march_ , which I won’t be stupid enough to leave hanging.”

“What did Mr E even _do_ to you?” You ask softly, as he reaches forward and pulls open the door.

“There was a spoon,” is all he answers, before your gaze is on the room ahead, and you forget everything else altogether.

Everyone you know, and love, and some people you have no clue about but you’re sure John knows somehow, turns to look at you as you step into the room. Some people are crying already, some are smiling, and Jade is snapping pictures with a silly smile below the camera. John’s Dad is playing the song John picked out, Dirk is standing on one side with Rose on the other, and there in the middle of it all is John, wonderful John, who is radiating a haze of blue from his suit that sweeps you back to the moment he first span you, and further still to the moment you first knew he was going to be someone special, to you.

Here he is, then, the prophecy fulfilled. Here with all the others, not more important, but the one who is going to be standing right beside you every step of the way, even when no one else can.

Your nose stings, but you’re smiling. Bro is walking you forward, and you’re smiling oh so brightly. Outside, the sky is blue, and it’s here in John’s eyes as Bro’s grip slips away and you take John’s hands instead, because this is your moment, just for you, just for him, just for them. This is your moment and the six - _six_ \- shards of your heart are all smiling just as wide as you are.

“Hey,” John whispers, and his eyes are wet.

“Hey,” you answer, and your voice is breaking.

There are vows to say, things to do, and that asshole is going to pull you into a dumb dip when he kisses you, but all of it seems far away, even as the music fades.

Everything is shining, and you are lost, lost in fields of gold and green under the colours of a sunset sky.

-oOoOoOo-

“-and I wanna say I’m lucky to know them both, but hell, most of you have met them - I _hope,_ kinda wanna know why you’re here if not- and you know they’re not the sort of people you’re anything but damn well _blessed_ to be near. I’m lucky I know them both and yet somehow I’ve got to the end of this speech without a pie in the face or a shitty rap remix being made, and _that’s_ something to be thankful for. So to my cousin, his bro for life - Husbro? Broband? Whatever we’re gonna call that- and to their happiness, health, and ongoing friendship, which honestly is an inspiration to us all.”

Dirk raises his glass to you and the room raises their glasses with him, along with the clashing mix of polite, Egbertian applause and loud whistling and clapping from those nerds you’re related to. You shove him lightly, and he makes a point to linger on his feet until his glass is empty, before he sinks back down and John stands, gesturing around the room.

“Okay, so! Eat up, guys! Dad and Jane really did a good job with all this, thanks a bunch to them.” He claps his hands together. “There will be a lame disco later courtesy of Dirk and Dave - I mean, they said it’ll be great but I think we know the truth - and everyone has to dance! Everyone except Bro, I mean. I’ve been told he’s expressly forbidden.”

“Objection!” Bro calls at him, and John snorts, sticking his tongue out at him.

“So have fun, guys! Thank you all for coming, and uh, thanks for all the presents and nice wishes! We appreciate it a lot.”

“Except the toaster,” you whisper, “who needs a fucking toaster?”

“We do, Dave,” he hisses back, but ducks and kisses your head. That’s apparently the sign for applause again, and you don’t think too hard about why, because nothing is going to ruin today. Everyone mills over to the food, but you linger in place, mostly because you already told John he better bring you some, and it takes you a minute of staring fondly at Rose and Jade descending on John, while Dirk and Bro catch David off guard with what you have a horrible feeling is a rap battle, to realise you are not, actually, alone.

“Hey there, mate,” the one called Jake beams, offering his hand. You take it, shake it, and absently touch your rose. “I’m, um-”

“Jake, right? Dirk’s boyfriend.” He looks incredibly pleased you know, cheeks going dark as he nods. “It’s cool to meet you. Really cool, actually. This- might be blunt, but he told you what all goes on with me and colours, or-?”

“Yes!”

You weren’t expecting him to answer quite so eagerly, and damn, dude might as well have stars in his eyes. He lets go of your hand to clasp his cheeks instead, all puffed up with his grin. “Oh, yes,” he continues excitedly. “All about it, hope that isn’t a tad strange, I just needed it sometimes and it’s always been a darn good relief to me when he starts to ramble about it, about how he’s your orange and you’ve got all the others- And about how you don’t feel all the romantic crap the rest of us are mired in! I was so happy to hear that, so happy-”

“Um,” you manage, blinking at him. All at once he looks flustered, covering his mouth.

“Oh fiddlesticks, sorry, shit- Was that weird? That was weird, wasn’t it? Blasted- Can I start again?”

Without a clue as to what else to do, you nod slowly, and Jake drops his hands to fidget with with his tie, giving you a weak grin.

“Good, jolly good, yep-” He laughs. “I do know, yes. Sometimes I need to hear a thing like that and Dirk likes to tell me about you. Makes everything seem more bearable, you know? These shoulders aren’t that broad and life can get weighty, but your shoulders are damn narrow too and you’ve done a bang-up job of bearing it all.”

“...I don’t know if I follow.” No, you _know_ you _don’t,_ but you’ll give it the benefit of the doubt. You mean sure, Dirk must talk about you, even if you’d never considered it, but the rest is throwing you for a rollercoaster’s worth of loops.

“Oh. Um- Let me think how to wrangle this out.” He circles his hands around each other, sticking his tongue out between his teeth. “I… I’m not quite up your avenue, but I’m up the street next door, and when you don’t want something other people tell you you should, it gets easy to think something’s wrong with you, that’s you’re a chipped cup and no one’s ever going to want a sip when they might cut their lip.”

Jake looks at you, and he looks so sincere, grasping his own knees firmly and blundering on with a stutter. “A-And, I mean… Well when you find out someone else who isn’t normal went on and had a good life anyway, has such a swell life with such fine people, it makes you feel like maybe you can do that too, right pal? Makes you feel like… maybe you’re not as broken as you thought. Do you follow?”

Oh.

You follow.

You feel something tighten in your chest.

“Hey, no, stop- you aren’t broken at _all,_ man. _Not at all._ There’s no normal, there’s just everyone, and this normativity bullshit that makes people think if you aren’t like them, you’re wrong. But you’re not, you aren’t wrong, you aren’t broken, and don’t think you are.” The words are falling faster than you can think about them, his eyes widening a fraction as you babble animatedly. Your hands are gesturing wildly, face contorting with all the emotions raging through you, and hot damn. _Hot damn._ You never realised you were this involved with all of this, even though it makes sense you would be.

“Jake, it doesn’t matter if you can’t feel the way you’re told to, if it’s about loving someone or- or sleeping with them,” you guess, and he gives nervous snort that tells you you understood that right. “We aren’t broken- _You_ aren’t broken. And sure, if you have to look at me to see that, please do, I’m glad I can be that person for you. Look long and good, bro, because you’re fine, just like me. You’re gonna be happy, and anyone who treats you like you’re not is the one that needs to shut the fuck up.”

“No one’s ever said something like that to me before,” he mumbles, blinking rapidly. “Dirk’s tried, but no-one-” Jake has to stop, clenching his fists and swallowing hard. “It’s hard. People say things, and even when they don’t… It’s like I can hear them thinking about it. Sometimes I think they’re trying to be funny. _Oh, if you don’t think about sex all day what on earth do you think about?_ And they- they expect me to say something like chocolate or cats or- but I just think about the same thing everyone else does, don’t I? It’s not _that_ important that it’s all they have in their heads, is it?”

“No, it’s not, and you’re right, dude. You think the same shit other people do all the rest of the time, and there’s _nothing wrong_ with the fact that you can’t think the same about that one thing.” On impulse, you wiggle closer, and though he looks briefly alarmed he settles quickly as soon as you halt and raise your hands in a quiet apology. “Look, I know that it’s hard to get over those things. People say dumb shit and even if they don’t mean it to hurt… Bro always said, you step on someone’s foot, it hurts like a bitch even if it was an accident. You get your foot hurt, they don’t get away with that just because it was a mistake, not unless they’re willing to learn and fix what they did.”

“People don’t want to listen.”

“Well those are the people that aren’t wasting time on,” you tell him firmly. “No matter who they are. You get to pick your friends and family doesn’t matter for shit, not unless it earns the right to. Just ‘cause you were born into that blood, that don’t mean they get any special privilege. If they’re shit, you have just as much right to drop their asses as you do anyone else, and if they’re willing to stand beside you, then congrats to them. They get to be part of what matters - the family you _choose._ ”

His lips twitch, and he looks at you admiringly, in a way you never thought anyone would think to see you. That’s Bro’s dig, Dirk’s thing, not yours. You’re not the guy who people look up to, you’re just Dave.

“Dirk was right about you.” Jake sniffs and rubs his thighs, dropping his gaze again. “You’re really something cracking, Dave. I didn’t even mean to start with this- some opener for ten it was, eh? But I’m- Thank you. For what you just said. Thank you so much.”

“Hey I don’t care if we’ve been friends for life or if we just met, I’m gonna say the shit I need to.”

“Well you’ve certainly put a sparkle in my day. I wasn’t expecting…” He pats his legs and leans across to pick up his glass, still lingering in Dirk’s seat.

“Hey,” you pick your own glass and raise it to him. “To the Mythicals.”

“...The what?”

“Mythicals. It’s what some people call us.” You shrug and run a finger around the rim of your glass. “Like… we’re the ones that people forget about, who people deny exist. Ace and Aro, Pan, Bi even, and all the rest. Instead of treating it like that makes us less, why not just appreciate it? We’re the mythical ones, we’re amazing and rare and people might deny our existence but we’re here, we’re proud, and we’ll make the legends and fairytales they put us in something _amazing_.”

“...That’s very…” He laughs, but it settles to a warm smile, and he raises his glass. “I can toast to that.”

You clink your glasses, and wait for him to drink before you pull out your rainbow card, flattening it against the table and wincing when it soaks up a little of your vivid grey wine in the corner. Another stain, another story. This card has seen a lot in your life.

“Oh, a colour card!” Jake laughs and pats his pockets, before drawing out a similar one, albeit laminated. Damn. Why didn’t you think of that? “They give you these at school in America too?”

“Yeah, sure do. They gave me this in fifth grade, kept it since. With colours like mine it’s been a life-saver.”

“I really could’ve stopped carrying mine when I met Dirk. Who- yes, is my rainbow, in case it wasn’t clear.” He sighs contently. “But I just like having it, you know?”

“He might’ve screamed about it a little. Dude was pretty excited to know you two were right for each other, especially after all that shit at sixteen.”

“Oh, Lord above, don’t bring that up.”

You both laugh and then settle, before you tap the second to last band, glancing at him.

“...This is you,” you explain, and watch him gasp and clasp a hand to his mouth again. “You’re indigo.”

“I’m- Wow! Oh, good gravy, I never though I’d be… That’s amazing! That’s fantastic!” He’s bouncing like a puppy, looks like one too, and you’re reminded of Jade in his smile and crinkled eyes. “You mean so much to me- heck that sounded creepier than I meant- but I never thought I’d mean anything to you.”

“Well there you are, Jake. This right here is you, and I guess it means the universe is looking forward to us getting to know each other better.”

“Then for once I’m in agreement with the thing.”

He looks so glad, so _relieved_ somehow, and you smile back at him when his gaze turns to you.

“It’s amazing to meet you, Dave,” Jake tells you, and you nod at him, at indigo, the colour of something more meaningful than you thought you could possibly be, of purpose and reaching out, of transcending borders and a happy ending.

It’s a colour that waited for you, somehow. You couldn’t be happier that he’s here.

“Pretty great meeting you, too,” you grin, and the two of you chatter at each other about myths and love and indigo until Dirk clears his throat behind you and just sits in Jake’s lap when his boyfriend refuses to move.

-oOoOoOo-

“John Strider,” John repeats for the tenth time, wiggling around on the bed as he toys with the colourful band on his finger. “ _John_ Strider. John _Strider._ ”

“Dude, your name is still John Egbert.” You give him a long look, finishing rubbing your hair dry and throwing the towel at him instead. “Seriously. You took it as a middle name. If you have such a need for it you’re gonna have to pay to change that shit.”

“Dave Egbert sounds pretty great too,” he replies, twisting the towel into a whip and cracking it at you, which in reality is more an ineffectual flop. “I can’t decide which I like more. Dave Egbert. Dave _Eg_ bert. Dave Eg _bert._ ”

“If you keep repeating names I’m gonna go file for divorce on the grounds you started rambling names at me and I couldn’t get any sense out of you. Tragic, it was, sir. He only loved me for my name…”

“I don’t think that’s a reason they’d accept.” He grins when you flop onto the bed, fresh from the shower naked and letting him bask in your bony glory. “I just like the fact those names are things that are kind of real. Like wow, I’m John James Strider Egbert and while that’s _super_ annoying to say, it’s also _great._ ”

“We’re married, dude,” you murmur, wiggling your blue ring at him. He wiggles his rainbow back.

“Hell yeah we are!”

You both laugh, and he collapses onto you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and just giggling there for a while. His body is broad and warm above you, and you pull him closer impulsively, rubbing your cheek into his hair and ignoring the tickle. This man is your husband now. Your best friend forever, signed in actual contractual form, and you get to wake up with him every single day for the rest of your life if you so want.

You like the sound of that.

“Sooo…” John drags out the syllable, rolling over just enough to draw shapes that you suspect are dicks on your chest. “Are we gonna do the thing?”

“The thing.”

“The thing, Dave. It is our wedding night, and I believe we as consenting and sexually active young men are traditionally supposed to do a thing.”

“Pretty sure there are more dicks involved than is _traditional,_ John.”

“Well- Shut up.” He pokes your nipple offendedly. “You know what I’m asking, Dave!”

“John James Strider Egbert, are you inquiring as to whether you might place your penis in close proximity to my own genitalia?”

He shoves a pillow in your face before you’ve even noticed him grab it, and you laugh and wheeze into the fabric, pushing him off you. John wiggles and fights his way back on top, and though you shove at him, you’re laughing way too hard to be of any use, right up until he kisses you to shut you up.

“ _Yes,_ Dave,” he mutters, bumping your foreheads together after your lips have parted. “That is, in fact, what I am asking.”

“Oh.” Your face is hot, lips still wet from his mouth, and despite the grin still fading from your face, you’re nothing but turned on by him looming above you, which is probably weird in a way you don’t really care about. All you know is John is big, and looks like a nervous bunny, and somehow that’s exactly the right combination of things to make you get hot under your non-existent collar.

“So you brought shit for this, right?” You murmur after a while, and John stops, staring at you with growing horror. “Oh my fucking- _John._ ”

“I- I wasn’t thinking! I was trying to remember the vows, I had all the stuff ready, I- I forgot we were staying at a hotel!”

“ _John._ ”

“I’m gonna go ask Bro-”

“Oh my fuck- _Don’t you dare!_ ”

He’s on his feet and though you give pursuit, he’s out before you can grapple him, ignoring your groans of humiliation when he escapes. You have no doubt that Bro will have everything John asks for, and _also_ that you will be hearing about this for the rest of your _life._

You _married_ that.

You married that.

You sit down on the bed with a huff and try and pretend you aren’t smiling like an idiot at the blue glowing on your finger, because you most certainly are _not!_ You’re just… doing a thing. With your mouth. That some people might call a grin but is in fact _very annoyed._

Yes.

John kicks open the door and raises a full damn box of condoms and a bottle of lube above his head triumphantly, nudging the door shut behind him before he waltzes proudly over the bed and presents his haul to you. You look at it, then up to him, then back again.

“How hard did he laugh?”

“I’m pretty sure he pissed himself,” John replies jovially, chucking his loot to the bed and then whipping his boxers off in the least erotic manner it’s possible to do so. He proceeds to place them on his head like a hat, putting his hands on his hips and standing impressively before you, wiggling his hips enough his dick swings at you.

Wow.

_Seduction._

It’s probably terrible that it’s working.

“Oh my, Mister _Stribert_.” You make a show of fanning yourself. “You do know how to make a sweet Southern belle blush.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“Says the dude using his dick as some kind of hacky sack between his thighs.” You reach up and take hold of his hips, tugging him forward insistently. “Not the biggest turn on, John, much as I love the erotic art of hacky sack.”

“Well what would turn you on?” He asks as he settles on the bed, tugging you to climb on top of him. You do, dragging the box and bottle over and glaring at the note pinned to the inside of the lid when you pop it open to grab two packets. Wow. _Don’t do anything I wouldn’t._ You didn’t know there _were_ things Bro wouldn’t do.

Okay, wow, bad thoughts, bad thoughts, you do _not_ need to imagine your Dad having sex.

You stop dead and stare into air as you think it, because you thought of him as the D Word again, and that’s becoming way too common for your liking. John clears his throat before the thoughts can kill any chance you have of doing more than rock back and forth tonight, thankfully saving you from the dark place that is your own mind.

“You could start by rubbing my dick maybe?”

“Oh, wow. How sexy. Let me just jerk that upright for you, amazing.”

You glare at each other, before you crack and shrug, fiddling with the packets in your hand.

“...Just kiss me, John. We usually work it out from there.” You carefully tear the packets open enough to get easy access in a minute, setting them beside him and leaning down to rub your nose against his. “We always work it out, actually. Come on, you know how to do this.”

“Yeah, but… This time should be special, right? I mean, we don’t have all the… the lovey stuff to make it super romantic, but I still want it to be great.”

“Every time with you is great.” You pause. “Okay, well- except that one time on the couch, when you were watching Jurassic Park while you blew me? That was pretty weird. I’m still not over you telling my dick it’s a clever girl.”

“It’s a good movie!” He runs his fingers down your spine, pressing soft kisses to your jaw between his words. “You still enjoyed it.”

“Still weird.”

John decides the best answer is to kiss you, and you’re fine with that. You’ve been fine with it since your first awkward embrace, and the conversation afterwards where you clarified that while you don’t do the romance thing, you totally do the kissing thing, the touching thing, and one glorious day when you were snowed into the apartment, you giggled your way through finding out you totally did the sex thing too.

His kisses are always soft, open-mouthed, with just a hint of a bite to your lip that he’ll deny later. You love them, all the little parts of them, and the way his fingers always twitch when you murmur into his mouth, his eyes closing and his breath pooling out against your skin.

He drags each one out to a slow close, then quickly presses into the next one, running his hand up into your hair to rub idly at your scalp. You hold his shoulders in return, squeezing tightly to steady yourself, and it isn’t long before he has this all back on track, even with the _amazing_ start it all had.

“Told you,” you whisper breathlessly, when you twitch against his stomach. He beams with hazy pride, fumbling for the packets you left for him and carefully slipping them on you both as you cover his jawline and neck with kisses, enjoying the slip of his wet fingers against your skin when he slicks you both with cool lube.

“I don’t even know what we’re going to do,” he mumbles at you, “do we even need these?”

“Less mess, and, uh-” You take his wrist, awkward with the angle, and tug his hand back to the curve of your ass. “This okay?”

“...Yeah.”

You always thought this kind of thing was going to be glossy and sleek, that you’d have unspoken understandings and everything would be absolutely incredible. What you’ve learned is that this is what you love, these hesitant moments where you just talk, you’re just close and caring and trusting without being silent. It’s awkward, sometimes, makes you laugh when shit goes wrong, or John suddenly says something irrelevant, which you always expected was what _you_ would do.

You work back against his fingers, and he asks you if it’s okay. You always answer, honest and quiet, because you understand why he needs to ask, the same way he understands when you hold him tight and ask if he’s happy. You know the answer, know his tells, but you need to ask anyway. Sometimes hearing it said is what matters, no matter how much you’re certain of what he’ll say.

“Ready?” He checks again, lightly pressing his tip against you. You bite your lip hard and nod, and when he pushes, you press back, enjoying the light burn of him slowly rocking his way inside you. No one else has this, with you, and sometimes you think about that. He’s the only one you trust with it, that you can. You whisper that in his ear sometimes, and he moans like you’ve told him the best thing in the world.

“John,” you mumble, pressing your face close and catching his lips again and again while his slow movements press you rhythmically against him. Everything is wonderful, in this moment, no silly small talk or awkward fumbling coming to you. All you know is that today was a good day, and he is a good man, and that when he looks at you with love in his eyes it’s okay somehow, because he doesn’t care you can’t look back in the same way. He knows it means just as much, when you press close and whimper out, “you’re my best friend.”

His hands roam like he’s trying to learn every inch of you, his breath coming out in heavy pants, and when your own sighs mingle with his before you press into a kiss, your eyes meet and you’re lost in just how blue his eyes are, just how blue the world is. Blue is pleasure, and you see it in those moments your eyes roll and your body quakes in his arms. Blue is care, and you feel it when he gently brushes your fringe away from your eyes, kissing you slow and careful while he picks up the pace of his thrusts. His body rolls against yours and you tremble, feeling every inch of his skin where it meets you, feeling the heat and pleasure that tingles from the pit of your stomach to the tips of your fingers, and has your curling your toes.

It means a lot to you that even now, John never says words that would hurt you.

You tangle your fingers with his when his hand drops, anchoring yourself to him while everything else just floats away. 

For once, you both move in near silence, other than softly murmuring out each other’s name. After everything else today, nothing else needs said, so you save your breath for moans and whimpers instead, and John answers in kind, keeping your foreheads together and your hand tight in his.

_I don’t have to be in love with you for you to make me so happy I could die._

The thought returns to you, and you smile against his lips, and hope he understands.

Six colours on a rainbow, and they all blaze so brightly.

Blue takes you as the pleasure does, and the world is brilliant, and _right_.

-oOoOoOo-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to be blown away by the response to this fic. You are all astounding, and every comment has been making me incredibly emotional. I'm asexual myself, and I've been channelling a lot of my experiences into this fic. To see it received how it has been is beyond what I imagined.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me, and I hope this whole rainbow will be something you enjoy, from Violet to Red.


	7. Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so summer turned to autumn and the winter fell, and all was grey between the colours, and all held their breath as they looked towards the spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It’s been a SUPER LONG TIME but I’m here and I’m finishing this fic once and for all. This fic always meant a lot to me and I never intended to abandon it, and I hope that you’ll forgive me for how long it took to get around to this. That being said, I put a lot of effort into these last chapters, and if anyone wants to see anything else from this AU, please leave a comment or [send me an ask](http://khemi.tumblr.com/ask), and I’ll see what I can do for you <3
> 
> Now. Here we go.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Dave’s age will change throughout this chapter._

You and John go down to Texas when Rose turns eighteen. It’s agreed on a whim, really, when Bro suggests a party next time you visit and then John turns that into a full blown trip _right now_. You pack up and decide to drive like the hip twenty-two years old you are, and the days pass in a haze of sunlight over fields, distant mountains, and the constant hum of the road beneath tyres.

You missed Texas, in the same way you miss the shows you watched as a kid. It isn’t as great as you remember, you certainly don’t want to go back to it, but damn, there’s fond memories here, and you miss how it used to make you feel.

John makes it loudly known that all it makes _him_ feel is _hot._

The moment you get your bags up all the stairs you did not miss at _all,_ Bro cracks out ice cold beers and nods upwards, and you jointly decide to introduce John to the joys of sitting on the roof, drinking and enjoying the breeze.

“See, this is better,” he hums, lounged back against the wall in the shade. You and Bro went to linger near the edge, but when he saw it was lit by the Accursed Sun, he opted to remain right where he is instead. “Dave, we need a roof like this.”

“We have a garden, John. That’s kind of a step up, isn’t it?”

He pouts, apparently disapproving of your opinion. “No, we need a roof. I just decided. We’re going to have a big flat roof… even my Dad has a balcony thing.”

“...Sure we are.” That’s an argument for another day. Bro is giving you a look, like he’s about to say something but doesn’t know how, so you leave John to his muttering about how great the wind is and focus on your Dad instead.

Yeah, okay, that word- whatever, man. You gave up on keeping it out of your vocabulary. It’s what he is, and that’s that, and neither of you are afraid of it anymore.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmurs eventually, shrugging and shifting his beer from hand to hand. “Not sure how all this is gonna go.”

“Well she wants it, right? And you think it’ll be fine?” He nods slowly, and you reach out to rub his back in what you hope is an encouraging way. “Shit’s gonna be fine, okay? I know what it’s got you in a twist, but… she’s a big girl. She didn’t decide on this lightly and she’s strong enough to deal with what it brings.”

“Maybe. Still worries me. If something goes wrong, I could’ve stopped it just by stepping in, or-”

“Bro, stop. Come on. She’s old enough to decide, and she knows any shit that goes down is on her.” You lean over so your arm can actually settle around him, pursing your lips in a worried pout that’s just the right side of ridiculous to get a snort and the beginnings of a smile out of him. “This is a big day for her, you know that, and what we can do is be here and support her through it, whatever happens.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we will.” He repeats it with more confidence, nodding to himself. “I just… I hope it works out, Dave. Really do.”

“It will,” you tell him again, glad he seems more certain that you’re telling him the truth.

-oOoOoOo-

To his credit, the whole drive he doesn’t bring it up, or tell her she doesn’t have to do this. You’re pretty impressed; you were expecting at least a few hesitant offers to turn around, or even a flat out announcement that this could all be called off if she wanted.

For once, you sit in the back and let Jade steal your set up front, so you can be sandwiched between John and Rose and keep her hand clasped in yours as she watches out the window with an expression on her face so calm that you can tell it’s entirely forced. You don’t know what to say, so you just squeeze her fingers, smile when she looks at you, let her rest her head on your shoulder when she decides to lean your way.

The car is quiet, other than the low murmur of music from the radio. Everything is tense, a world away from the meal you all shared before you left, which was a mess of laughter and presents and John being tackled to the ground to make him enjoy the cake Jade had spent so much time baking.

Now it’s just this calm, this moment before the plunge, and you have no idea if what’s coming next will be a relief or a nightmare.

The motel you pull up to is as good as any other, and you know the daunting impression you get of it is all in your head. Rose is gripping you tight enough your hand aches, but you grit your teeth and bear it, support her in what little way you can as Bro parks and cuts the engine.

“You guys are gonna watch the car?” He looks at Jade and John, and they salute, before breaking into giggles that are way too alike, the long lost twins from the land of dorks. You spare a moment to poke your husband and roll your eyes at him before you help Rose out of the car, but the instant the door shuts behind you, you feel like John and Jade aren’t there at all, the three of you huddled up together and peering at the facade of identical, dark doors.

Bro touches Rose’s arm, and she gathers herself, raising her head high and setting her posture to something more collected and refined.

“Eleven,” she announces, voice barely trembling. “You know we’re expected.”

You let her lead the way with confident steps that mask her faltering stature, until that door looms before you and you hesitate back. This moment is hers, and for all you guess it’s for you and Bro too, she needs to do this, she needs to be the one to start it and let you in when she’s ready.

Rose draws in a small, unsteady breath, and raps a little beat against the wood.

The air is still, her hand dropping to her side and clenching into a tight fist as she watches the door, your gaze flitting from the two golden digits to her face and back. Her eyes are softly aglow with violet, with another moment never to be lost, and it takes your breath away even before the chain rattles and comes open, the handle twisting and the door opening wide.

You’d know who you were looking at even if you weren’t forewarned, because for all the lines on her skin and the silver in her hair, Bro was right when he told you that Rose looked like her mother.

“...Hello,” Rose starts, but it hitches and fades as soon as it’s out, her fingers clenching into her skirt. Miss Lalonde gives her a smile, small and fearful, neat nails tapping the wood before she summons her voice in return.

“Hey there, hun.” She drops her hands, pushing the door open completely and blinking to clear the wetness from her eyes. “Do you- Would you like to come in?”

“Please.” Rose pauses, glancing back to you. “Could we have a moment? Is that alright?”

“You take as long as you need, sweetheart.” Bro speaks first, but you nod in agreement, squeezing her hand once more when she offers it. “We’ll be right here.”

Rose smiles, turns back to her mother, and slips past her with barely a falter to her steps. Miss Lalonde looks to you both, smiles kindly, and inclines her head.

“...Thank you, Ambrose. And it’s nice to see you again, Dave, not that you’d remember…” She sighs, but her expression is earnest in its gratitude as she repeats, “thank you.”

The door closes behind her, and you stare at it for a moment, before turning and looking back towards the car. Bro turns with you, shoving his hands roughly into his pockets and tapping his foot to the floor in worried iambs; firm-soft, firm-soft, firm-soft-

“She’ll be fine,” you remind him, waving at your husband and weird adopted sister thing as they press their faces to the car windows and make stupid expressions at you.

“I know. I know, I just…” He falls silent, shrugging heavily. “They’ve both put a lot of weight on this, but sometimes it just doesn’t click. I don’t know what else to say. What if they’re not as close as they think they’re gonna be? It’s been a long time, Dave, they’ve got nothing in common anymore.”

“Then they start from the bottom and build up.”

You both go quiet, lost in your own thoughts, before he jerks his hand up and scrubs his face, raking his fingers back through his hair a moment later.

“When Rox rang me about Rose, she could barely speak straight, kept crying and slurring and telling me she’d forgotten to feed Rose, to wash her, to tuck her in, to talk to her- I’d always assumed Rose was fine, never fought Rox saying she’d look after our kid, never had a reason to. I was already scared enough, with you. Didn’t need two kids to fuck up.” He draws in a long breath. “And she rang and _fuck,_ I’d let that happen, Dave. I’d been so fucking disinterested in my own little girl that I never even checked up, never bothered; every time I thought about her I just thought she was in other hands, hands that must be better than mine, ‘cause I was already making enough of a mess with you.”

“You couldn’t’ve known-”

“It would’ve taken _one trip,_ Dave. The _effort to call._ I could’ve known, I _should’ve_ known.” Bro stares you down, and you close your mouth, looking away uncomfortably. “How much earlier could I have helped if I’d taken the two seconds to ask to be involved? Why did I think it was okay to just- to not care?”

“Bro, you _cared._ You were _afraid_ , that’s _different._ ”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

You’re used to talks like this. Talks where he rags on himself, tells you all the mistakes he made, how easy it would’ve been to fix them. You know what you’re meant to do, to sit quietly and nod along while he tears himself apart in front of you and disregards everything good he’s ever done.

You’re also _sick of it._

Something rises up in you, hot and fierce, and before you’ve thought about it you shove his arm, hard, turning to look at him.

“No! _No._ Bro, _shut the fuck up.”_ He stares at you like you shot him, but the words keep falling, thick and fast. “Yeah, you could’ve been a part of her life! Maybe you should’ve been! But you were already looking after one kid you couldn’t afford, doing everything you could to make sure things didn’t fall apart! You couldn’t have _paid_ to visit her, could barely manage our phone bill _already,_ and you think it would’ve been easy to just change all that? Rose’s Mom offered to look after her and _you had no reason to think there was a problem!_ You’re not _psychic,_ Bro! The only other single parent you had to go on was doing _great,_ because look at you! Look where we were! I was happy, I had everything I needed, and you had _no fucking reason_ to think Rose’s life would be any different!”

He flaps his mouth, but you are _not_ done, you are _not_ letting any of this slide.

“You always talk about things you could’ve done but just- _stop._ You _didn’t do them._ You did what you did and most of that shit you did was _pretty fucking great!_ ”Why can’t he see that? Why won’t he just listen- _“_ The moment you knew there was a problem, you dropped everything to make sure Rose could come to us, decided to look after her as long as she needed! It’s be _fifteen years!_ Fifteen years and you never made her feel anything other than welcome, even when things were tight, even when it would’ve been easier without her- you always made her feel at home and gave her all the love you could. _How is that something to disregard?_ You were there for her when it mattered, _all the way through her growing up,_ and when you made the choice to do that you had no idea what would happen, you _knew_ it would be a struggle, but you didn’t fucking hesitate in doing it anyway!”

“I- I had to-” He stutters, but you shake your head, waving your hands at him.

“ _No you didn’t!_ You could’ve left her to rot, you could’ve said it wasn’t your problem! _Other people would’ve!_ But you _didn’t,_ you _cared,_ so don’t you _dare_ tell me you’re awful just because you made one choice without _knowing_ the reasons it was a bad one!” You gesture at the door. “Look at her, Bro! Rose is _amazing,_ she’s incredible, and you’re the one who did _everything you could_ to make sure she could be everything she wanted to be! She’s in there with her Mom, in there when she’s _ready,_ when she _chose to be,_ because even after everything that happened you taught her to forgive and to give people a _chance_ , to do what’s right and to follow your dreams and all those other shitty cliches that make a good person.”

You hear the car door and _know_ it’s Jade, because John will be dying on the backseat and hoping you stop before he gets dragged into it.

“You had- had _every reason_ to be bitter. You had every reason to teach me that colours were bullshit, to teach Rose that her Mom was a fucking terrible person, but you taught me that _whatever_ I found it would be good enough, taught her that her Mom made mistakes but had admitted them, had given up _everything_ to try and fix them. You practically took Jade in, when I moved out you let me know I’d still always have a bed at home, told Dirk if he needed you you’d drop everything to drive your ass to Cali and pick him up. If you want to talk about you dealing with kids, let’s talk about _that shit,_ okay? Let’s talk about how you were the best Dad I could’ve hoped for and me and Rose and- and _everyone else_ are _fucking blessed_ that you were the one who we were lucky enough to have in our lives.”

“I just… wanted what’s best for you,” Bro mumbles, and you stare at him pointedly, until he laughs wetly and looks away. “Wow, I- I don’t know what to say. You really think all that?”

“Of course I do, holy shit. Do you have _any_ idea how much I look up to you? How- How thankful I am that I’ve got you?” You’re struggling to keep it together, but you will, because holy shit if you end up having another cryfest with Bro shit and the handle will part in such tragic circumstances that Shakespeare rises from the grave just to take notes. “You can keep telling me your flaws if you want, okay? But I don’t care. I know who you are, I know you’re not perfect, and I love you _including_ all of that, not _despite_ it. You don’t have to reveal what a terrible person you are, Bro, you don’t have to try and make it super clear that you’re not some incredible, flawless being. I _know_ who you are, I _know_ what you’ve done, and most of it has been _incredible._ ”

Jade stops and looks between you, putting her hands on her hips and huffing at the expressions on your faces. You have no idea how to go through what you’re trying to explain if she didn’t overhear it, but thankfully when she speaks, it looks like she’s on the same page.

“When I brought you that letter, I thought I was doing something for my grandpa,” she tells Bro flatly, in that one voice that says Jade Harley is not here to fuck around, “but I was wrong! Because all I did was bring a letter to you. What I got back was a whole new family, and I never asked for that. You just gave it to me, pulled me into your weird life and made it really clear I had a place there, if I wanted. I left my home behind to come complete my important quest, but I never thought I’d find a new home at the end of it! And here I am, years later, still being driven around in your car and crashing in your house and being cooked regular meals to make sure I eat, or having you text me to wake me up before important stuff so I don’t sleep through it. That’s all stuff you don’t have to do, Dave is right! But you do it anyway.”

“I just do what anyone would,” Bro repeats, but this time he sounds less certain, more emotional, and Jade shakes her head, stepping forward and patting his cheeks with her hands.

“Nope! You do what most people _couldn’t_ , which is putting everyone first and apparently not even realising!” She smooshes his cheeks in and grins, earnest and broad like only she can. “It’s okay if you can’t see it, though! Between all of us, I know we can convince you eventually.”

He sniffs, screwing his eyes shut, and you nudge him gently as Jade pats quickly like she’s hoping to pat all the tears away before they even fall.

“Come on, dude,” you offer in your best comforting tones. “Keep it together. If John sinks any lower into that seat he’s gonna merge with the car and I don’t wanna end up on one of those weird kink shows ‘cause I’m dating an automobile.”

“He ain’t merging with my car, that shit is a prime mid life crisis purchase, he can get his ass out and merge with the ground instead.” Bro snorts, wiping his eyes with one hand and putting his other lightly over Jade’s. “Didn’t waste all that money to have it taken over by the flustered spirit of your dork.”

“Then we better cool all our tits, he’s nervous around emotional growth.”

“The guy runs around with a lizard in a dress, I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to maturity in general.”

Jade drops her hands, watching him cautiously until he smiles and nods, mumbling that he’s okay. “Should probably go save John from himself, Jade,” he adds. “Don’t wanna ruin my seats if I have to cut him out.”

With a snort, she nods and jogs back towards the car, and you hear her exclaim your husband’s name before the door slams behind her. Everything is quiet again, other than the odd hum of a passing car, the ragged sound of Bro steadying his breaths.

“You kids are too good to me,” he murmurs finally, gazing down at the ground.

“We’re as good as you raised us to be,” you answer, shrugging. “If you wanna blame yourself for anything, how about that?”

Bro laughs, glancing at you before he nods, cheeks dark and eyes softly aglow.

“...Yeah, okay.”

The silence that follows is more comfortable, easy, and you relax, taking the time to calm down, to unwind all the tension that built behind your eyes when you refused to crack and cry. Man, keeping collected takes a lot of effort when your emotions have a habit of bursting out worse than an Alien through the chest. Some people manage to let them out gradually, but not you, nope. You just… explode, randomly, usually at other people, and usually in way that’d be inspirational if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

At least _you_ think so.

You’ve retreated into the happy space in your own mind when the door behind you opens, lost in distracted rap lyrics and thoughts of the bones waiting for you when you get back to work. The creak of the hinges draws you gently out of your own thoughts, slow enough it’s a pleasant awakening rather than an abrupt shock, and you turn to see Rose in the doorway, cheeks stained with tears but smile wide across them.

“Would you like to come in?” She asks you quietly, already moving aside before either of you answer. Neither of you bother, either, just slipping in and lingering awkwardly in the entrance of the shitty motel room until Miss Lalonde huffs and gestures at the beds with a dramatic wave of her hands.

“I know it’s not the Ritz but it’ll do, come on, sit your asses down, boys.”

Well, that’s certainly better than your joint imitation of the flyest hat stands to ever exist, and you find a place to settle where the mattress dips low enough you can pretend it’s a chair, wiggling to get comfortable and then leaning forward on your knees, hand clasped all seriously between them to cover up the fact you have absolutely no clue what to do or what to say. Bro tries to do exactly the same thing, glares when he notices you beat him to the casually covering up your confusion through posing like a fashion model party, and leans back instead, tapping his thigh with a false air of nonchalance that you have absolutely beat.

Miss Lalonde watches the display with the air of an ornithologist observing a new and exciting social ritual between two preening cocks, and taps her manicured nail tips to the table beside her, the clicks loud in the quiet room.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she says at last, smiling with a fondness that’s edged with melancholy. “And now there’s a mini-you, too. Must be a riot when you two are posturing- rapping, right? You still rap, don’t you?”

“When the mood takes me,” Bro replies. She laughs, warm and sweet, before her eyes crease up and she gives him a small nod.

“You did good, you know? Thank you. I used to worry, but I…” Her eyes go to Rose, then back. “You did a fine job of raising our girl. Better than I might’ve.”

“Someone had to.” His voice is like gravel but it’s pushed down there so it won’t break, and Rose shares a look with you from where she’s nestled in one of the plush armchairs that are far too big for a room this small. You give her the universal shrug of _we had a talk, it got emotional, it’s cool, we’re cool,_ and she nods back, though her eyes narrow with a clear _we are discussing this later, David, like it or not_.

You do not like it. That will do nothing to dissuade her.

“Someone didn’t have to be _you_ ,” Miss Lalonde reminds him gently, looking at him with an expression Rose inherited across all the miles between them. It isn’t quite judging, isn’t quite sad, but some kind of comforting that comes with an edge of unspoken words and silent commentary you’ll never get to know.

Bro looks away, not even mustering a rumbled reply this time, but she leaves him be, turning her attention towards you instead. “Dave, right? Rose has so much to say about you.”

”All good, right?” It’s a joke but you shoot Rose a look all the same. All the _best_ introductions start with psychobabble that’s spouted when you aren’t in the room to hear it.

“All _something_ ,” Lalonde answers with a sparkle in her eyes. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the mystery by telling you _what_.”

So there’s another question answered that no one asked: whatever the hell Rose’s personality came from, it’s genetic.

Miss Lalonde manages to coax a conversation out of the awkward atmosphere, after poking and prodding to find an area that makes you and Bro perk up together in a way that had her instantly beaming at hitting the jackpot. It’s your job, first, that has your tongue going loose with stories about exhibitions and discoveries and all the people you’ve met- and it had Bro sitting straight beside you, chipping in when you talk yourself down, pride lifting his voice from the gravel and adding something sweeter to it. A little nudge and you’re trapped in a back-and-forth, building off each other through talking about the time Bro came to watch you open the first display you got to help design, then ending up speaking in a timed manner than it definitely _not_ rapping as you throw it back at him and start talking about the art exhibit he got his work shown in and how he sold every image he let them hang.

You remember you have an audience very suddenly, but Rose is just beaming at you both, and her mother looks pleased beyond belief.

“See, there’s the Strider _I_ remember,” Lalonde grins, the lines around her eyes growing deep and pleased. “I was worried you’d forgotten how to smile.”

“It’s easier to remember when you’ve got insufferable brats around to remind you.” Bro shrugs, but he doesn’t hide in a slouch again, staying with his back straight and even managing a smile that’s aimed at her instead. “What about you, Rox?”

“Got married,” she answers smoothly, “got widowed. It’s been nearly a decade, before you give me your sympathies. I’m at peace. Got cleaned up and set up a new research center, spent the last few years experimenting with cloning cells and the treatments we could use that for. All the usual, really, just sober while I do it this time.”

“...Was he..?” Bro starts, and her smile dims.

“He was my everything, yes, and after he passed I ended up back where I started from, and all the world is grey. I’m used to it, now, and at least I don’t have to pay extra for the colour broadcasts anymore, so… Silver linings.”

She falls quiet, looking down at her clasped hands, and you try and pick something to say, something that isn't just a pointless apology for life being the way it is. You can all but hear Bro trying to do the same worried word search beside you, but as always, both of you are beaten to the punch by a quieter, feminine throat being cleared.

“This might be the most crass conversational segue I’ve ever attempted,” Rose says to no one in particular, her eyes trained on the ceiling as she speaks. “But it seems as good a time as any to tell you all that I have in fact discovered my favourite colour to be purple, and that I was very surprised to find out quite how much red Dave goes out of his way to wear.”

It takes a moment for you to process what she's saying, but her mother is quicker off the mark.

“Oh my _God,_ when did _that_ happen?” Lalonde leans towards Rose, brief melancholy now a spark in her eyes as she beams in excitement. “Who was it? Who _is_ it?”

“How- how long have-?” Bro stutters to a halt, then starts again. “You're sure? What am I saying, of course you're sure, why the fuck wouldn't you be sure, not like it's hard to miss the world smacking you around the face with the lurid glow of _hey asshole this is your stop, time to get off and into a life of whatever fresh hell this is.”_

You just manage a low wheeze, the big-brotherly desire to give a Talk or _many Talks_ suddenly overpowering. Rose found her someone. Rose has a _someone_ and you swear to God if they do _anything_ to _hurt her_ -

“Her name is Kanaya,” Rose explains patiently, though her hands are tightly closed around the bunched fabric in her lap, “and despite expectations, she is not a screaming eldritch horror from the hell dimensions, so I believe you owe Jade some money, father.”

“Shit, I knew I should've bet on sassy vampire.”

“No, no, I have thoroughly checked her teeth and she does seem human, so John owes Jade money as well.” She smiles, the stress in her fading as she finally looks down to the three of you. “She is, however, charming to a fault and impossibly pleasant company, and I would very much like you to meet her. All of you,” Rose adds as she looks at her Mom. “If you would… like that.”

Miss Lalonde hiccups on a reply, covering her mouth and blinking fast to get rid of the tears welling up in her eyes before she stands and hurries over, stopping to wrap her arms around Rose in an undignified, warm embrace. You hear her mumble thank-yous and apologies and all the other last pieces of a conversation you weren't in here to hear, and then she lifts away and smiles down at Rose, and once again how similar they look smacks you in the face.

“You're gonna go far, sweetheart,” Miss Lalonde murmurs. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

The bed creaks as Bro leans back and looks away, but when you glance at him he's smiling. He did good, and you hope he knows it as he sees them together, and that long winding lane of possibility that stretches out ahead now they're both in the right place to start walking it side by side.

He did good, and you're proud of him, too.

-oOoOoOo-

Roxy Lalonde becomes a part of life after that, visiting regularly and even turning up on your doorstep up north one time with a bottle of apple juice in her hand and a hopeful smile on her face. You adjust to her presence as quickly as John discovers she’s just as willing to mess with you as he is, and every time Rose sends you another picture of her and her Mom together somewhere weird and random and very _them_ , you print it and stick it up on the wall of photos you’re assembling, and message back that you better get a souvenir.

Of course, they’re rarely alone wherever they go, and you adjust to Kanaya Maryam’s place in your family at a more cautious pace that includes all the embarrassing talks your gut wanted you to give, performed even _more_ awesomely than you intended, to Rose’s eternal mortification. In the pictures you get sent they’re usually right beside one another, fingers entwined, Kanaya’s cheeks dark and Rose’s hand touching her arm with all the affection that’s apparent every time your sister starts talking about her beloved or you sit in the same room with them long enough for everything to devolve into a mushy snarkfest that leaves John pretending to throw up out of their sight.

It’s no surprise that a few weeks after you turn twenty five you get a phone call telling you they’re engaged.

It’s a good beginning to your quarter mark through life, something that leaves you smiling and humming your way around the house as you finish deciding on what you’re going to include in your first exhibit as a lead curator. Life is good, and bright, and domestic in the best possible way, and you’re fine with the status quo you’ve settled into with your ridiculous husband and your expanded family, and nothing seems set to shake it up.

Then, one day late in March, John goes to visit his Dad.

-oOoOoOo-

“You know when you were a kid,” he asks you down the phone, “and you think you know how your life will go, but then it isn’t like that at all and you start to wonder if maybe there’s parts of what you used to think that you’re starting to really want but you don’t have them and you don’t know how to ask to change the way things are?”

Your chest goes cold, the wine in your mouth turning sour as you wonder if this is it. This is the conversation you’ve been dreading for years, right? The _this isn’t enough Dave, you’re not enough, I can’t keep going like this._ The moment John realises he doesn’t have to stay with his messed up colours if he doesn’t want, and you have to face up to the fact you care about him too much to stop him walking out the door.

Slowly, you set your glass down, ignoring your fingers trembling, and rub your face as you listen to his breathing and wonder if he’s been drinking or if he’s just that nervous, if you should play along like you don’t know where this is going. You don’t know what else to do. You’d actually started thinking this wouldn’t happen, that things really were going to work, that you were good enough for someone just the way you were.

“...Best way to ask for change is just to do it,” you tell him when you remember John’s still waiting for an answer. You wet your lips, voice levelled out by years of knowing how to keep it there no matter what you feel, and when he doesn’t answer, you add, “John. You can talk to me about anything, you know that? No matter… No matter what it is. No matter what you want.”

He sighs, and you can hear the relief in it, relief that stings and makes you close your eyes as you wait for what feels like the inevitable start of the end.

_I can’t do this anymore._

_I need you to love me._

“...I always wanted kids.”

Your eyes open again, and the knot that was in your chest chokes you as you try to speak, spluttering and coughing before you manage to force out a raspy, “ _what._ ”

“God, _see?”_ John whines as you scramble to get a gulp of wine to wash the desert in your mouth away.“I knew this was dumb! Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no, _stop,_ wait.” Your mind reassembles, readjusts its perception, returns John to being _okay with shit_ and adds in a flashing neon question mark beside him in the shape of something small and cute and way too much of a responsibility for you to consider handling without your head spinning. “You want kids? With- Like _us_ kids? Like kids here. With me?”

“No, Dave, I want them with my secret boyfriend, the pool boy.” John sighs overdramatically, the soft thump of him collapsing on the bed making your imagine him being here, falling onto your lap, and making you realise how much you’ve actually missed him for the whole week he’s been gone. “Come on, Dave! Of course with you, of course _us_ kids, as long as us kids are adopted because I’m not sure science is advanced enough to have _actual_ us kids.”

He pauses, and you hear the gears grinding down the line.

“Uh. Dave? What did you _think_ I was going to say?”

Hot damn if there’s a way out of this that doesn’t involve making a fool of yourself you’d love to get a celestial sign pointing you in the right direction, but of course, God does not actually grant you that sort of mercy. You wince and rush it out all at once. “I thought- _youwerebreakingupwithme._ ”

John starts to sigh.

He drags out the sound, letting it continue way past its time to end, even going so far as to pause to inhale just so he continue it that little bit longer. When he’s finally done you’ve slumped in the chair, head rolled back so you can let out your own soft groan that you’re kind enough _not_ to stretch to infinity and back.

“ _Dave,_ ” he starts in that _one_ voice.

“I know! I know, it’s dumb, I need to stop, I’m trying hard not to get hung up on it no more but when it’s in my head it won’t stop and the moment there’s an opening boom, here comes the money shot straight through Dave’s fragile self-worth and his continued certainty that life is too good to be true is gonna bust straight out his chest as messily as he handles which person he’s gonna refer to himself in.” You pause and remember to breathe, shaking your head like he can see you. “He- That is me, myself, and I, know this is a problem, and I’m trying to deal with it, but it takes time to climb the mountain that’s more of a cliff and I guess it’s harder when my handy blue rope that keeps me secure had to get tied off for a detour to the land of cakes and mischief.”

“...Dave,” John repeats, and this time you stop. “I was going to say you know it’s okay, right? To be worried? You just have to remember I’m here too, dude, this is a fifty-fifty thing.” His voice is going all soft and sweet and you press closer to the phone, screwing your eyes shut and pulling your legs up into the chair so you can curl up completely. “You can talk to me about anything too, Dave, even this. _Especially_ this. I want to be there for you and I’m _going_ to be there for you, I promise, for you _just as you are._ You know that, don’t you?”

“Logically, yeah,” you murmur. “But logic takes a back seat to my heart blaring the Kill Bill sirens every time there’s a stupid sign I might be wrong.”

“Then your heart can stop make shitty movie references and listen to me, instead. I am your best-bro-husband-platonic-nonplatonic-queerplatonic whatever the fuck I am, and I would like to keep being that, and I would love to have a family with you more than anything else because you would be a great Dad and I’d give anything to get the chance to see what horror story we could raise together if we were given the chance.”

“Hah.” Oh man, there your eyes go, you’re gonna blame the hot teary mess you’re turning into on the wine for sure. “We’re not like… the ideal guardians for a kid, bro. There’s a lot of shit going down with us without another life in the mix, and I sure as hell don’t know what life lessons to teach a kid who isn’t as much of a mess as me.”

“You’re not a _mess_. Being different isn’t being broken, and if you want to know what wonderful human being taught me that you need to go grab a mirror.”

You feel your heat rolling on your cheeks before it really occurs to you you’re crying, and that’s _definitely_ the wine, it has to be. It doesn’t take much to scrub it away, laughing thickly and running your thumb against the side of the phone in place of the hand you wish you were holding.

“You really think we could make it work?”

“Dave, if _anyone_ is proof that nonconventional parents can pay off, it’s you.”

You’ve never thought about having kids, not really, but you think if there’s anyone you want to suffer it with, it’s John Egbert, asshole extraordinaire and your best bro for life by all the vows you made when you got the shiny blue band that’s warm around your finger.

He can’t see you nod, but he laughs when you make whatever atrocious noise of acceptance you manage first, words coming after you pull yourself all back together.

“You can’t call them Casey,” is your first priority, and John’s groan is a pretty good sign it wasn’t misplaced. “And you’re Dad, and I’m Bro, and if you question that I’m gonna hang up.”

“I wasn’t going to question it.”

“You’re going to wait until you’re home.”

“ _Of course I am_ , oh my God, _Bro?_ Does that make _your_ Dad like… Grandbro. Bro-Senpai. Bropa.”

“Stop.”

“ _Bramps.”_

“ _John._ ”

He laughs, and you’re laughing with him, everything that was cold in your chest full of a warm blue glow.

“So a kid?” You ask him once the silence settles back over you, and John hums from right beside you even though he’s too many miles away.

“A kid,” he agrees, and starts talking, and you listen to every word as you start to picture the life he’s describing, and realise hey. You’re okay with this. More than okay. It fills something inside you with comfort to think of having a fuck-up of your own and doing the best you can by them, and teaching them maybe a rainbow isn’t all they have to worry about when they look to the future and wonder what it’ll bring.

Yeah. You settle down, and smile, and think it all through. In the end you think being a _family-_ even one of the weirdest kind- sounds pretty fucking great after all.

-oOoOoOo-

“...You know we’re calling her Casey,” John informs you as you peer through glass at the strange pudgy creature you’re too numb to really register you’re taking home.

At the moment, you aren’t thinking clear enough to register _anything_ , so you nod and make a vague sound of understanding that’s an absolute lie.

Her name is Casey Jane Strider Egbert by the time John’s through, and one day you might come down from the clouds you soar in every time small fingers wrap entirely around your large one to actually kick his ass for all his crimes against your daughter’s name.

-oOoOoOo-

When you’re twenty six, she calls you Bro for the first time.

You aren’t sure why you chose the title, but it feels good when she giggles and manages it with a _w_ where the _r_ should be.

The next time you pick up the phone and excitedly tell your Dad, that’s what you call him. You’re the Bro now, it’s you.

You never call Dad anything but what he is again.

-oOoOoOo-


	8. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then there was one, and the world held its breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> This is it, this is the end of Sing a Rainbow. Thank you so, so much for coming on this journey with me, and I hope it has meant as much to you as it has to me. This fic was a labour of love and it became important to me and so many people, and I'm incredibly proud to stand here at the end of it, and looking back at how far we've come.
> 
> There is now a series this fic is a part of, which you can follow for a few more small stories, like some more of Bro's experiences, and Dirk and Jake's story. Whether or not you carry on with me, the fact you've come this far means a lot, and I'm thankful to each and every commenter or kudos leaver for the encouragement to see this fic to its end and for making me realise how important the story I was telling turned out to be.
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful [Yumi]() for the picture that ends this chapter, and please, listen to the credits if you can.

The worst decision you _ever_ made in your life was adopting a kid young enough to soak everything in like a sponge, and then raising her in a house with _you_ and _John_ and two visiting grandpas who you’re pretty sure are intent on turning her into a monster in completely different ways. Add in Jade, Rose and Kanaya and the ever present presents that Roxy appears with when you least expect it, and you have a formula for absolute _disaster._ You fully blame John for the glaring oversight that led to this nightmare, obviously, and in response he’s always so _swift_ to apologetically disappear off the face of the earth the moment your beloved daughter starts acting like the terror he made her.

“ _Jane Strider Egbert-_ ”

Jane hoots and continues to totter faster between the guests around you, vanishing under a table just as you finally catch up to her and taking the tier of the wedding cake John helped her pilfer with her.

You love your daughter. You _adore_ your daughter. If you keep repeating that to yourself, maybe the urge to scream into the purple velvet pillow that was _meant_ to just’ve been for the rings will pass.

“ _Jane!_ ”

Her giggles give her away as she crawl out from the draped cloth at the far end of the table, and you rapidly dart around to scoop her off the ground, lifting her up high into the air and watching her legs continue to kick around and set her the puffy blue dress Kanaya made her flapping around like a particularly mischievous cloud. She hoots again, cake still grasped tight in her hands, but you’ve spent _way_ too long with _Egbert_ in your name to not duck the moment she starts to twist herself to face you.

The top tier of Rose’s wedding cake sails over your shoulder, and Jane gasps, slapping her hands over her mouth in dismay.

“ _Bro,_ you didn’t stop it!” She wiggles again as you turn and survey the damage, the streak of icing across the floor and the poor, defenceless cake now a pile of splattered mess at the end of it. Matter-of-factly, Jane explains your mistake. “Your face was meant to stop it, silly.”

_You love your daughter._

“Jane, sweetie, _hun._ ” You breathe out, slowly, moving her to settle facing you as you press her to your chest and let her sit on your arm. “What did Bro say about messing up the cake?”

She averts her eyes, looking down and plucking at your suit. “That it was bad.”

“And what did you do?”

“...I messed up the cake.”

“And _why_ did you do that?”

“Because _Dad_ told me it was _okay_!” Jane nods solemnly, before her mouth splits into a wicked smile she learned from John, her cheeks glowing as her blue eyes sparkle. “Because I was just the dist- _distaction_.”

Oh for _fuck’s sake-_

“ _John,”_ you hiss, not letting Jane escape as you sidestep the cake some of Kanaya’s family are staring at in horror. There’s definitely one half of this affair that’s going to let down the other, and hot damn you hope Kanaya warned them what it’s like to have this many Striharlondeberts in one place, or whatever atrocious compound word Jade is using to refer to you all these days, because if this day ends with only _one_ cake destroyed you’ll eat your own cufflinks.

Jane is snickering over your shoulder, and you don’t realise until too late that her hands are covered in frosting and she is smearing them all over the shoulder of your suit. _God-_ You’re too old for this. You’re twenty-eight, and _already_ entering some kind of child-induced midlife crisis that isn’t helped _one bit_ by the fact you live in a house it’s safer to climb into a room through a window than risk opening a door.

John is nowhere to be seen, but you _do_ spot his most likely partner in crime; Mister Egbert is fussing with his pipe in an open doorway as he continues the animated discussion he’s holding with your possibly _also_ guilty father. They’re both in the matching suits they turned up with at 4am last night, waking you up by attempting to open their way-too-manyieth bottle of vodka with a sword and a hammer and falling asleep on your couch and floor with a few excited murmurs about some business venture or other they thought was a _fantastic_ idea, Dave, just stand there and listen to _this_ it’s going to be _amazing._

All you managed to gather was that it involved software that did a _lot_ of work for you, like a relevant Clippy but more likely to gain sentience and take over the world.

“Dad!” You call, and they both turn at once, the smoke from their cigarette and pipe mixing in the breeze. Right, of course. You’d think you would’ve learned by now. “ _Cake_ Dad.”

John’s father continues to wait expectantly as yours turns away with a snort, and as you reach them he takes his pipe out and holds it away from Jane so he can lean and kiss her forehead.

“You require something?” It’s asked light enough, but you’re not new to this rodeo, you know the patented Egbert sparkle that means he’s going to wreck your shit one way or another. “Do you need me to watch Jane?”

“No, well-” You glance at her. “ _Yeah,_ yeah, oh God, please, chain her up or something so she can’t cause any more trouble.”

“ _Bro!_ ” She squeaks, smacking your shoulder with her filthy little hands. “Not the _chains!_ ”

“Oh yeah, the chains. The little manacles, the muzzle, the jacket with the belts. We’re going the full nine yards here Casey Jane, we’re gonna tie you up good and make sure your reign of terror is over before it can begin, the sweet baked martyr you slam dunked onto the ground not forgotten, its terrible crumbly death not in vain.” She giggles as you lift her up, grasping your wrists with sticky fingers like the adorable brat she is. “Maybe a cage… You think we need a cage, Grandpa?”

“Oh, most definitely.” Mister Egbert smiles as Jane flops dramatically over in betrayal. “Perhaps suspended over some sort of deadly pit, I hear that works wonders for behavioural issues.”

It isn’t until another Maryam abruptly starts hurrying away that you realise how loud you were both casually discussing imprisoning your child, and any attempt at not laughing is ruined when Egbert cracks first, pressing his mouth to the back of his hand as his shoulders shudder and he barely muffles the loud laugh that slips out against his skin. You laugh with him, bright and easy, before ruffling Jane’s hair and pecking her temple.

“Seriously though, you’re gonna stay with your Grandpas so I can go kick your Dad’s ass.”

“Bad word,” she coos, imitating Rose, but then giggles and lets you set her down, scampering up to Egbert’s legs and clinging to them. “Tell him I was good, um. I made you run all over!”

“I will, baby girl, I promise. You be _real_ good for Grandpa and maybe I’ll even forgive you for messing up my suit.” Speaking of messing up… You crouch and fuss over her dress, getting it back in place and then fishing around in your pockets for the small packet of wipes that have become your secret weapon in the fight against parental dismay. Every trace of frosting is scrubbed from her fingers before you start on wiping down your suit, straightening and fixing your gaze back on the Cake Dad. “Okay, but, _seriously._ Where the _fuck_ is John?”

“Mind your fucking language,” Sword Dad says over his shoulder, and you reply with a gracious middle finger after covering Jane’s eyes. “Ass. I saw him slinking around the flowers looking sketchy, though.”

“ _Thank you._ ” Without another word you’ve turned on heel and hurried away, still brushing at the drying grey crusted on your shoulder. Ugh- You hate that you don’t know if it’s _actually_ grey, or just red, stupid red, the colour you always wanted but which seems to haunt you whenever you think you’re monochrome only to find out from John’s giggles or Rose’s expression that actually you’re all in red and no one said-

No one said…

You look down at your suit, tugging it out to stare at it, the suit John picked for you and promised you was understated, then dart straight back to your Dad and In-Law with a storm brewing on your face.

“ _What colour am I wearing?”_

“I haven’t a clue,” John’s Dad informs you casually, but _your_ Dad glances and shrugs, shifting his cigarette around his lips as he poorly stifles a laugh.

“Oh my God. Oh my _God._ How many people can see it? _How bad is it?_ ”

“It’s pretty bright, Dave,” he exhales smoke and turns to look at you properly, taking in what must be a ridiculous sight. “I mean, it _suits_ you, but… Yeah. You’re definitely going to stand out.”

“Is that why Dirk’s avoiding me?” Every part of your day is starting to make sense, and you hate it. “ _Is that why Jake spat out his drink?”_

“Oh, absolutely. He got you good, kid.”

You’re going to kill John, but _first,_ you’re going to save your sister’s wedding.

Unsurprisingly the assembled guests are quick to part before a man striding with a face like thunder and an apparently _bright red tuxedo,_ and it takes you hardly any time to reach the grand floral display that started as a single arrangement and turned into an escalating battle of pomp and ironic decorum between Rose and Roxy until the behemoth of a jungle that stands before you was constructed. Flowers haven’t taken over the corner of the room so much as colonised it and started a brand new civilisation amongst the leafy canopy and lurid blooms, the burgeoning insect nation within likely only biding its time before mounting a grand invasion of the land beyond.

Lucky for you, its largest resident is suffering from being too tall to adequately hide despite the vast selection of plants that he could use for shelter, and you fold your arms and wait for him to make eye contact with you before you give him one of his own, hideously elongated sighs.

“Hey John.”

“Hi, Dave!” An arm rises like a periscope to wave at you, his voice muffled through the foliage. Obviously you’re not going to try and sneak around to him, because John has absolutely laid traps and you’ve played this game too many times before to walk into them; so you wait, tapping your polished shoe against the ground until he finally untangles himself from whatever merry hell he’s creating back there and saunters around the display to beam at you with a hell-raising smile you didn’t want to see _once_ today, let alone _three times._

“What were you doing?” You ask, and he rolls his eyes back at you.

“Wiring the lights!”

“Why is that _your_ job?”

“I’m just being _helpful_.”

“Is _that_ what you call it?”

“ _Dave!_ ”

“John.”

“Dave-”

“What colour is my suit, John?”

He hesitates.

“Can you… see it?” John looks you over hesitantly, a hopeful lilt to the words, and for all you wish the answer was _yes,_ just like you wish every single day, you give him a flat stare instead.

“Call it a _lucky guess._ You told me it was _grey,_ asshole.”

“Dave, red suits you!” Your husband closes the gap quickly, fussing the rest of the frosting from your shoulder and then gently tugging at your bow-tie. “Come _on,_ you promised me _one_ prank that didn’t hurt anyone, and unless making you look so sharp you could slice someone in half is hurting, I kept my promise!”

“So your adventures into the jungle over here were just for fun, huh?” Even if he’s telling the truth about the wires, that’s a brand new nightmare all of its own, because for someone who likes to act like he could take Dirk in a tech contest, you both _know_ his tech usually breaks everything it touches and his grasp of wiring is _just_ as _spectacular._ “John, you behaved all the way through the ceremony, and I am so proud of you I’d leave you an all-caps note if I had a pen and paper handy, but that _doesn’t_ mean you get to screw around _now_ and you _know it._ ”

“I’m not screwing around! I’m not an asshole, Dave-” The attempt to stop yourself looking disbelieving fails, and John groans at you. “Okay, maybe I’m an asshole, but I’m not a _jerk,_ I wouldn’t mess stuff up for Rose!”

“Jane ruined the cake-” You start wearily, but John cuts you off with a finger to your lips.

“And I have at _least_ two extra copies of _every single tier_ , and I already fixed it _._ ” He tugs at your bow-tie again. “I have a _black_ suit for you - you can ask Dirk or someone to check - if you want to change but I _promise,_ you look _wonderful,_ and hand on heart, Scout’s honour that would _totally count_ if I’d been a Scout, what I was just doing has _nothing_ to do with Rose or Kanaya or _anything_ that’ll upset _anyone._ ”

Despite your concerns, you stay quiet, waiting, and John draws his hands back and glances furtively around.

“Remember when Roxy found out I like programming and kept talking to me about it? And you kept asking why I was so eager for her to know Dad- _my_ Dad- is good at the practical side of things?” He’s practically vibrating, hands trembling in front of him as he clasps them together. “This is _it,_ this is what it was for.”

“Holy shit,” you can’t believe you’re back here. “Are we _still_ stuck on this? I thought you were gonna let them figure it out on their own.”

“Dave, you’ve seen how they get on! You’ve seen _the looks._ ” John grasps his own cheeks and swings onto the balls of his feet and back to his heels, grinning at you. “ _Your_ Dad told me _my_ Dad spent all of last night talking about finding a reason to talk to her, so I’ve made one! I’m the matchmaker, Dave. It is _me._ ”

“I didn’t think they’ve made each other see.” Now _you’re_ shooting furtive glances, lest Lalonde appear behind you and bring a death by snark with her.

“They haven’t, but… I’ve been thinking. If we made it work, if _Jade_ is making it work… Well.” He shrugs, rubbing at his chin and scratching at the stubble that’s already settling in, despite how long he spent shaving this morning. “They had colour, and they both lost it, but maybe that’s okay?” Nervously, he glances at you like he wants confirmation, dropping his hand to stuff them both in his pockets. “They still make each other _happy_. If we all went by rainbows and nothing else, I still don’t know if I would’ve ended up with you, Dave, but I liked you and you’re my best friend and that was enough I thought it was worth a try, even _if_ your colours were something I didn’t understand.”

Whatever he’s looking for in your face, he apparently finds it, because he reaches out and swipes your hands up in his as you clear your throat and try to give him the best glare you can get out, despite the heat on your cheeks. “Don’t you dare turn on the sap at me when I came to kick your ass, Egbert.”

“I’m not turning on anything! It’s just the truth.” John squeezes your hands, smiling hopefully. “I won’t lie, Dave, getting on a plane to meet you for the first time is still the scariest thing I’ve ever done! I spent the whole flight trying to figure out if it was a bad idea, what it meant if I wasn’t all your colours, what I’d do if you weren’t mine. I was worrying myself in circles about if… if it meant you’d never love me, and how I’d deal with that, how awful it’d be, but-” He catches your gaze quickly when you start to look away. “Hey, hey, listen. _But._ When I met you? _None_ of that stuff mattered, not really. It took a while to get it out of my system, sure, and you know I was an ass at first! But I’m glad you forgave me for that, because all the stuff I’d thought would be huge wasn’t huge at all, because I got to meet _you,_ and whatever I am to you, you’re my best friend, you’re my rainbow, and I’m the blue asshole who got to be a big enough part of your life that I’m still here all these years later, and still just as happy as I was the first time I saw you sitting pretending to be cool on that bench.”

“I wasn’t _pretending,_ ” you object weakly, and John laughs, leaning to kiss your forehead.

“ _Sure._ ” He stays close to you, looking down at your hands as you watch his eyes and wonder if they’ve always been so blue, or if they keep getting brighter as the years pass, if they keep shining more and more every time he takes your hands and murmurs things to you you used to be scared he’d never say. “I… I don’t know if you ever noticed, but for a while I haven’t said that I love you. I thought about that a lot, too! About why I was saying it, who it was for, and I just… I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it? I could say that, pin everything on it like it’s super important, but… I’d rather say you make me happy. I’m glad you’re here. You’re my best friend, Dave, and you’re frustrating and weird and funny and smart and so many other things I can’t list them all, and I don’t think that you feeling a certain way about me or me feeling a certain way about you is everything I cracked it up to be, because _this,_ whatever the heck this is we have _now,_ that’s even better, and even if I hadn’t been a single colour on your rainbow I’d still have wanted to try it, and I’d still have been happy here, if you let me.”

“If you make me cry at a wedding that isn’t mine,” you tell him hoarsely, “I’m going to wreck your shit.”

“No you won’t. You’re going to cry and then you’re going to smack me and kiss me and tell me I’m a jerk even though I said I’m not, and then we’re going to do a slow dance to the most inappropriate song _ever_ and it’s going to be great, just like _everything_ with you is great, even the days we don’t get on and we argue or the days you worry I’m leaving or I worry I’m too much, because those days still end with us together and that makes them great, to me.” John nudges you gently, lacing his fingers through yours and looking up to meet your gaze before his face turns soft. “I’m glad I met you, Dave, and… and rainbow or not, blue or grey, you’d be the most important person to me, and you already were when you were just grey text, and you still will be for as long as you’ll put up with me. So- So maybe it doesn’t matter that Dad and Roxy don’t have colours, because I think if all the time I’ve known you has taught me anything, it’s that thinking it matters is sort of missing the point.”

“You’re a piece of shit.” He’s not. He’s wonderful and it’s moments like these that make you scared he’s going to leave, because you can’t be enough for him, for this. You can’t give him back a fraction of what you know he’d pour out for you and that’s what you’ve always been afraid of, no matter how many times he tells you it’s okay, it’s enough, he wants to stay. One day, you might start to believe it, to understand that maybe you really _are_ okay, both of you, together; you hope it comes soon, because man, John’s too good for you but you’re ready to stop caring about that and just be happy that _this_ is the best friend you got stuck with, for better or for worse.

“I’m _your_ piece of shit,” he reminds you, softly, “and I want to be your piece of shit for the rest of my life, Dave.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” John smiles, kisses your lips. “Know what?”

“What?”

“We should totally get married.”

You’re laughing before you can help it, freeing a hand to slap his chest before curling your fingers into his jacket and pulling close to him, closing your eyes when his arm slips around you.

“I hate to break it to you,” you mumble into his collar, “but we’ve been married for eight years.”

“ _Oh my God,_ ” John gasps, then giggles, pressing his mouth down into your hair. “Eight whole years and you’re not sick of me yet?”

“I know, I know, miracles do happen.”

Somewhere along the way, your embrace turns to a sway, the promised slow dance off in your hidden corner that’s actually the exact opposite of hidden, but no one seems to care about the mismatched dorks tangled up in front of the jungle, even if one of them is a glowing beacon of unseen colour. You don’t even know what song you’re dancing to, everything muffled in John’s jacket and his arms around you, but the song isn’t the point and you know it.

The point is the _moment,_ John around you, the smell of at least thirty types of flowers blending in the air and the heat of too many bodies in the hall making your shirt cling to your skin under your suit. Later, your mind will get rid of the bits that weren’t perfect, tint the whole thing blue and glossy like a dream.

You’re lost enough in the sway and swell of his chest that when Roxy curses from beside you you jump, grabbing John’s lapel and dragging him down fast enough your heads smack together and you both groan and recoil away.

“My fucking- _lights!_ ” Roxy appears from behind the display, nearly tripping over a bundle of wires and managing to save herself with a hop and a stagger. She lifts a delicate boot and then kicks the table hard, pouting at it. “ _Fuck_ that. Not at my Rosey’s wedding _,_ you piece of shit.”

John beams at you once he blinks the stars out of his eyes, sashaying up beside her and clasping his hands behind his back.

“Hey, Roxy! Is something wrong?”

“John! _John.”_ She turns and pokes his chest, her eyes lighting up. “You- You can do wires, right? Or- wait.” Her mouth forms an _O,_ and she whips her hand back to snap out a compact, starting to preen at her hair and smack her lips together before she continues. “I mean, Daddy Egbert, he’s good with- with his _hands,_ right? He’s here, isn’t he?” Roxy flutters her lashes at her reflection, shoving the compact back down the cleavage of her dress and then wiggling her chest with her hands until she’s satisfied with how it looks. “Okay, okay, I can do this, I can be _chill,_ I can be _so chill, John._ ”

“I think he was standing by the gardens,” John tells her solemnly, apparently unaffected by her setting her phasers to _mack on._ You can’t believe you’re thinking this, but his ridiculous obtuse sabotage is probably going to work just as well as he expects. “Follow the smell of tobacco and cake.”

Roxy nods sternly, grabbing John’s cheeks and huffing before putting on a smile that could kill a man at twenty paces.

“Wish me luck, John. I’m gonna _do it,”_ she bounces in place, then turns to hurry away, before freezing and turning to face you both, clapping her hands. “And God willing, I’m gonna do your Dad.”

Then she’s gone, past one of Kanaya’s friends who you’re pretty sure just choked on his drink, and you turn to watch John’s face go from pleased with himself to horrified in three seconds flat. He gestures after her, then at you, then at the table, before grasping his hair and groaning, scrunching his eyes shut.

“ _Mental images I didn’t need!_ ”

“Such is the price of your good deed, John.” You step forward and pat his back gently. “Welcome down the rabbit hole that you helped dig, where everything is a trip through neon lipstick, candy-flavoured pipe smoke, and your Dad tapping that ass without a regret in the world.”

“ _I_ have regrets.”

“Too late for that now. You’re the matchmaker, John.” You wiggle your fingers at his face, smiling lazily. “It is definitely _you._ ”

John glances at you, then after Roxy, before quickly pecking your cheek and hurrying after her. You laugh in his wake, shaking your head and cupping your hands to yell after him that he better get Jane, then turn back to the flowers and glances between them now you can without worry. Every colour is there, mixed and muddled and sometimes bleeding together, purple and green at the fore and…

You reach and lift a rose from a tall vase, running your fingertips over the dark petals and holding it to your jacket to compare with a sigh. Six out of seven isn’t a bad run, really, considering you might never have got any at all. Yeah.

Six out of seven isn’t bad.

“Dave?”

Jade has somehow managed to pick up walking silently from living with your family so long, and you kind of miss her heavy steps almost as much as you miss not squeaking every time she speaks from right next to you, which is pretty much every single time she starts a conversation when you’re visiting, or she’s come up to stay with you. You manage to swallow this squeak at least, shooting her a sidelong look as she leans down beside you and watches you put the rose back into place.

“One day you’ll find it.” She nudges you with her elbow, straightening and tucking in her escaping tie before she slips her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “There’s a lot of time left, Dave.”

“I’m nearly thirty.”

“So? There’s _still a lot of time._ ” She hums and picks out a gentle blue bloom, stepping in front of you and pulling a pin from her hair. Curls fall over her face as she fixes the flower to your lapel instead, glancing at you from under her hair as she blows it aside with a grin. “Maybe it’s closer than you think.”

“Oh? You pulling your cryptic psychic bullshit again, Harley?”

“I’m not psychic! I just… have gut feelings, and a lot of hope! And at least _half_ of that you could totally have too, Dave.” She pats the flower gently, fixing her hands on her hips once she’s pleased with it and looking at you instead, green eyes blown up big by her glasses. “Not everyone finds everything they want by twenty, or thirty, or forty! If you act like you life is over at _twenty eight,_ you’re wasting _so_ many opportunities.”

“I’m insulted.” How could she ruin your perfectly good attempt at souring your own mood this way? “Stop being sensible, it’s terrible.”

“Nope! One of us has to be an adult, as the other one is going to collapse under the terrible weight of not having his entire life worked out by the time he’s thirty. But!” Jade hums. “That’s not why I came to talk to you, so I’ll let you get away with it this time.”

“If you’re here about the party, I don’t know when it is, talk to John. All I know is Jane wants everyone to wear moustaches and solve a murder together.”

“No, it’s not- Oh my god, that’s _adorable._ ”

“I know, right?”

“But no! Nope. I’m here for _you,_ Dave.” With a flourish, she draws something small out of her pocket, offering it in a cupped palm. “You know what this is, right?”

“Sure.” Of course you do. You grew up with Dad wearing one everyday, John’s Dad has one pinned on the knot of his ties every time you see him, and Jake always has his somewhere on him as a show of solidarity. “Raincloud.”

“Right! And people wear these to show they lost their rainbow, or don’t have one, or just support people who don’t.”

“That’s how it works, yeah.”

“So I was doing research, and I realised that people make small groups all the time, or buy these for themselves, but… No one’s just made a _big network._ ” She gets out another pin, a little different, a raincloud with raindrops that change colour as she moves them in the light. “People pour _loads_ of time into those image sites to match people with rainbows, and making colour TV, and making so much rainbow merchandise, Dave, _so much,_ it’s really quite silly? But no one’s put that effort and money into making something for people who _don’t_ have rainbows. It’s always… Oh, but you’ll find your one person! You don’t need _support_ like you’re different! It’s not, well maybe you won’t, and maybe you need to talk to someone about what that means.”

Jade bites her lip, then gathers herself, looking up at you and holding out the pin with coloured rain.

“My great-grandpa left me a lot of money,” she announces matter-of-factly, “and told me to use it to do something I thought was special.”

You take the pin and move it back and forth to watch the spectrum shift from purple to green to grey, weighing her words and the implication before you close your fingers over the cloud and raise your eyebrows. “...You’re gonna start something?”

“I’ve started, actually. We’re working on an initiative to get our name out there, but, yes! _Silver Linings._ Jake thought of it,” she adds, grinning. “He’s pretty proud of that.”

“Jake’s involved?”

“He’s been really excited to help more people, and it won’t just be for people without rainbows, it’s going to be for everyone who doesn’t feel like they fit. There’s a really set view of what’s _expected,_ and if I do one good thing in my life, it’ll be to let as many people as I can know that it’s okay to not _be_ that, and Jake wanted to do the same.” Jade fidgets with the hem of her jacket, smile becoming more hopeful. “I know you already have the job you wanted, and I’m not asking you to give it up or anything- but I wanted to know if you’d write something, or come talk, once everything’s stable. I mean, I’m going to talk about Bec, Jake wants to talk about his experience with Dirk, Bro already agreed to come talk about great-grandpa and Roxy is going to write about what it’s like losing colour and how you can move on. It wouldn’t just be you!”

“People aren’t gonna care about my weird-ass colours, Jade.”

“Jake did,” she replies, quickly. “I do. Maybe you’re not the only person in the world who gets colours like you do, Dave, and maybe that other person would hear you and think- Hey! It’s not just me. I’m not broken, I’m not alone.”

_We aren’t broken- You aren’t broken._

You look down to the pin as your fingers open, and wonder what you would’ve done if someone had told you sooner that you’re okay, if you’d been able to believe that when you were a kid instead of still struggling to believe it on your bad days even now.

“You think people will go for this?” You slowly wiggle the back free, pinning it carefully to your empty lapel and rubbing a thumb over the enamel.

“I think until we try, we’ll never know, but it’s _worth_ trying. If even _one person_ hears something I put out there and thinks, that’s me? I think it will be worth it. Don’t you?”

...Yeah. You think you do.

“Guess I could give a talk, or something, if you think it’ll help. Why not? Worst that happens is I make a fool of myself, best that happens is I give someone something important to think about.” Maybe someone will look at you and think hey, this guy knows what’s up, and they’ll be absolutely wrong but if the mistake gets them through, who are you to correct them?

“Not enough people are talking about this stuff, Dave. Every single voice matters, _especially_ one like yours.”

Jade smiles, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing firmly, the green glow of her optimism flourishing out under your skin as your lips turn up in response.

“We can make this work,” she promises you, and you believe it, believe the light that’s in her eyes. “Me, and Jake, and you, and everyone else, and who knows? Maybe somewhere at the end of the rainbow there’s one last person waiting for you.”

The world decides that’s the end of that, because your answer is drowned out by people starting to clap, and cheer, whistles and an excited call you know was Jake Strider hollering even across an entire room full of voices. Jade squeals, and before you’re given a choice in the matter she’s dragging you through the bodies, all but shoving people out of the way so you can get to the front and stagger to a halt next to her in front of the staircase that sweeps grandly down into the hall.

Rose and Kanaya are glowing, hands clasped and matching bouquets held proudly together to make one, the dresses they handmade one another still as gorgeous as they are tradition breaking. You can see they’ve done up their makeup since the crying onslaught that followed their vows, and once again, they look like something from an Art Deco poster on the benefits of sapphic delights, hair styled immaculately and bodies contrasting and mirroring all at once.

Somewhere behind you a camera goes off, and you’re glad the image will be preserved forever.

Gracefully, Kanaya steps down first, then turns to help Rose follow, gaining a sly glance and a playful smile before they glide forward together. Rose catches your eye, and her smile splits open with excitement; you return it, shooting her a thumbs up, and with a little chuckle she winks and passes you by, the couple slipping through the parted crowd until they reach the dancefloor.

John and Jane have found their way back to you by the time the music starts, something as slow and orchestral as you’d expected, and together you watch your sister- _sisters-_ glide around the floor together, an image of beauty and grace that’s totally not bringing tears to your eyes, no matter how much they sting.

Then Rose pauses, turns towards her assembled family at the edge of the floor, and beckons you all in with a wicked smile.

The bass drops.

-oOoOoOo-

Four years later Jade finally calls you up and asks if you’re ready for your speech.

You say _yeah, sure_ which means _oh fuck, no, what, no,_ and with an excited explanation of just how many people have said they’d like to attend, she arranges a date with you, a place in an exhibition space that’s _far_ too big, and happily says she’s looking forward to seeing you.

You hang up, stare at your phone until Jane gets home from school and runs in with a picture of herself complete with dashing facial hair she drew for you to hang on the fridge in the insanely ornate frame Aunt Rose got her, and then do you best to focus on baking cupcakes with John for an upcoming bake sale by the PTA he’s thrown himself into aggressively, listening without hearing as he continues to irritatedly explain that if that _asshole_ Susan continues to be a bitch to Jan with the hair or _whatever_ those women are even called, he’s going to flip off the handle into a situation so ridiculous he’ll need you to invent a whole new metaphor to cover it.

It’s a while after he stops talking that you notice, glancing up and seeing John frowning at you as he taps the spoon against the edge of the latest bowl of mix.

“...Earth to Dave? You in there, dude?”

“Sorry.” Your cheeks burn, your gaze snapping back to the cupcakes bubbling softly in the oven. “Trying to figure out how I want to fake my death and flee the country.”

“Did Rose write another book about you?”

“ _No,_ thank _God,_ don’t even remind me about- _Ugh._ ” You’re still not over the stunningly accurate drawings of yourself as a very old, naked wizard her fans have concocted in legion, the best of which she regularly mails to you, lovingly printed on canvas and signed by the original creators. “No. I’m pretty sure her next target is Dirk, anyway. She’s been gunning for him ever since he beat her to the top of the New York Times bestsellers, and I mean, I _still_ don’t know how that fucking happened but what can I say, apparently America is desperate for some good, brooding pony noir.”

“You know he only did that to prove he could? Jake said he’s been super focused on whatever big breakthrough he’s working on at Ames.” John rolls his eyes. “I’m looking forward for the next big announcement from NASA to be delivered by a puppet, one day he’s going to try it! And one day they’re probably going to let him do it, too.”

“He’s ascended into robots, John.”

“They’re just puppets without strings, which is sort of even creepier the more I think about it.”

A thought you never wanted, and will never think ever again if you can help it. You shake your head and peer at the cakes, thinking, before you straighten lean on the counter to watch him stir.

“...So Jade wants me to give a speech.”

“Oh! To the Foundation?”

“Yeah.” You scoop one of your finished cakes off the side and drop it down as you feel hands grasping at your belt, picking Jane up after she takes it and setting her down on a clean patch of counter as she starts munching. “I said I would _way_ back, at Rose’s wedding, but I had no idea it’d be this big by the time she cashed that check.”

“Saying no is totally an option,” John reminds you, raising his eyebrows. You know that, you _know,_ and yet… Well, you don’t think you _want_ to say no. You think this is something you want to do, you just have no idea if you can, not without making a fool of yourself in front of a bigger crowd than you’re comfortable with seeing you fuck up that bad. Man, maybe if you just write it?

But the idea of someone else saying those words makes your skin crawl for new reasons. Shit, you’re going to do this, aren’t you? You’re really going to do this.

“If even one person hears it and it changes something for them,” you say at last, “then it’s worth it.”

You _do_ believe that. Jade was right; just one person is all it’d take for everything you’re going to put yourself through to be worthwhile.

“Okay.” John nods, giving the bowl to Jane so she can start stirring with gusto and he can move to lean next to you instead. “Then what are you going to do?”

“I guess I’m gonna figure out some shit to say, and then I’m gonna say it.”

He laughs, but his palms are soothing when they cup your cheeks, his smile calming and bright.

“You’ll do great,” John tells you, in the same voice he tells Jane he’s proud of her. You snort at him and smack his chest but you’re smiling all the same. “I’m glad other people are going to see you shine.”

Jane flicks batter at you both to get your attention, but John still stoops to kiss your cheek before he grabs the bowl and threatens to tip it over her hair, an attack she fends off with her trusty spoon. Just for a minute, the speech is barely a thought in your mind, and you rest in the glow of watching your family be ridiculous, the island you always return to no matter how much the rest of the world feels like a storm.

-oOoOoOo-

“And, uh. I mean, you should. Fuck. No, you shouldn’t _fuck,_ not unless that’s what you’re into, but…”

You scratch out another line and empty your glass, looking up long enough to catch the bartender’s eye and gratefully taking the appletini that comes your way a minute later. As you sip it, you look down over your speech plan and wow. Yep. That’s a lot of black lines, and not many words left.

With a sigh, you start again.

“Hey. I’m Dave, because that’s the most important thing ever,” you mutter, scribbling it down. “I’m here today to talk to you about our monochromatic lord and saviour and how you too can be happy without following the social rules made up by colour-hoarding capitalists.”

What the fuck are you even doing.

“Okay, okay, no. Good morning, I’m Dave, and welcome to Jackass.”

You empty your drink far quicker than you intended to, groaning as you tap your pen and leave more specks in a cluster of frustration in the margin. Tomorrow is coming too fast, and you’ve got _nothing,_ because leaving everything to last minute is your forte even when you knew it would end this way, in a bar with a phone full of texts from John reminding you sleep is a great idea, and a page in front of you that’s littered with your failures.

“When I was a kid,” you try out loud, “I learned how to sing a rainbow, and…” No, no. “I thought rainbows were the most important-” Maybe? But what if… “I… I’m Dave, and-”

“Holy shit, you’re _Dave_ , they got that the first ten times, dickwad.”

You scramble to catch the pen that nearly flips out of your hands, slamming it down to the bar and cursing before calling for another drink and pointedly _not_ looking over at the asshole who interrupted you. Sometimes you’d love it if you could think better without speaking, but here you are, rambling to yourself enough someone felt the need to interject. Wonderful.

Another glass is set down, and you crouch down to hide behind it as you continue writing.

“...I thought I was- that I was wrong somehow for a long time. That I was a paper-jam in life’s copier- Life’s copier? What the fuck Dave. Uh. That I was an error in the code of reality? Wow, no.”

“An unfinished sketch.”

“What?” This time you glance up at the man who is apparently going to _continue_ interrupting you. He’s staring down at his drink through dark glasses with chunky legs that make it look like he wanted a cut-price superhero mask, his dark skin tinted grey and the turtleneck he’s wearing rolled up high enough he almost looks as pretentious as Kanaya does sometimes.

“You thought you were an unfinished sketch that life had forgotten to paint.” He sighs, roughly. “Keep it themed, okay? _Colours_. You want to focus on colours, even in your shitty metaphors. It brings it all around and it holds people’s attention better, stops them wandering off a cliff and exploding into distracted disarray while forgetting where the fuck you’re meant to be going.”

“Oh.” You look down at the page and consider it, before writing more slowly between the lines. “...An unfinished sketch. Huh. I can work with that. An unfinished sketch, and then… Yeah, and then life started painting me but it was like I was a colour-by-numbers and all the numbers were missing, so I had to find them all myself and fill in as many gaps as I could.”

“You got weird colours?”

And now this is a conversation you’re having.

“...Yes. That’s the whole point of whatever the fuck this speech even _is._ I got things one at a time and that’s pretty weird, right? So. Maybe someone else is the same kind of weird, and maybe me talking out my ass will be enough they go yo, I guess I’m just some colour-by-numbers bullshit dude too instead of being a janky-coloured mess, and if this guy can pretend he’s got it all together, so can I.”

“You’re not doing a good job of pretending if your idea of _together_ is beatboxing to yourself in a bar muttering about being a fraud.” He runs his fingers over the bar to his glass, raising it to you. “But congratulations on the attempt, even if it was the worst attempt at anything since I entered a sharp-shooting contest.”

“I’m… Did I say that out loud?” Hm. You were pretty sure the fraud thing was inner voice, so you guess you’re even closer to losing control of that boundary than you thought. “I mean, I’m not. I don’t really think that. I don’t- not all the time. Just… sometimes, maybe, sure, I think I’m faking something or whatever, but doesn’t everyone feel that way?” You glance at him, then away. “Doesn’t everyone feel like maybe whatever relationship they’ve settled into is just some big song and dance that’ll end in a joke at their expense because they’re not actually the person who’s meant to be there and all it’ll take is one crack and everyone will realise they didn’t belong so they’ll lose everything they were never good enough to have and the person who never owed them any time is going to move on to something that actually worthwhile and leave them in the dust remembering that actually they were selfishly keeping them trapped the whole time instead of letting them free?”

Silence falls between the two of you, flooding with the murmurs of the other patrons and the low beat of music, and then he puts his hand down firmly and swivels to face you, eyebrows lifting high enough you can see them over his glasses.

“Who are they? You been dating a few weeks? Months?” He swings a leg, knocking his foot to your calf. “They prettier than you or whatever other stupid shallow shit people are pointlessly judging their own personal worth by these days?”

“He’s- no!” You should walk away at this point, stand up and leave and not let some random guy drag you into an emotional pile-up while you’re drinking and whining. That would involve being smart, though, which is why instead you mumble, “he’s my husband.”

“He’s your _husband._ Uh huh.” He leans forward, at eye-level with your throat. “And how long have you been married?”

“...Twelve years.”

“You having trouble?” He asks your chest sweetly. “Not feeling like you used to?”

“N-No.”

“Then what the _fuck_.”

Your face is burning all the way to your ears, and you look away, scribbling harder over some of your crossed-out words so you don’t have to face him or what he’s saying. You aren’t having this talk with a stranger in a bar, except you guess you are, because he downs his drink and then keeps talking.

“Listen, Dave, it is Dave, right? Of course it is, you’ve only said it _ten fucking times_ so far to your imaginary audience. So, _Dave_ , listen. Apparently, you don’t do the typical love thing, and more power to you for being ready to admit it in front of a crowd that’s big enough you need to write a damn speech about it. I understand that makes things a mess. Trust me, I really do. When the world gives people big flashing signs saying _hey, this is the right person, you better jump on that and ignore everyone else ever,_ not getting that sign is pretty much the biggest way to get fucked that doesn’t involve actual penetration.”

You snort, raising your hand to cover your mouth, and he swings his hand through empty air, then reaches slowly to pat your shoulder, then actually lightly smacks you. That makes you look at him longer, and his bizarre facial fashion hits you for what it is with a flash of guilt that runs down your spine.

“Oh- Oh shit, oh wow, you…” You’d never thought about it before, but _now_ you’re _definitely_ thinking about it, looking between his eyes. “How does that… How does that even work?”

“I don’t get colours, dipshit, just like I don’t get everything else. Boo hoo, what a tragedy, isn’t like I’ve lived with it my whole life and heard the _I’m so sorry_ schpiel a thousand times! Let me tell you, that talk doesn’t get _any less_ patronising, so let’s zip that up behind your loose lips and not dive into the world of bullshit I absolutely do not need to put up with today.” He grimaces, shaking his head. “Definitely not today. Tell you what, Dave from Jackass- You’re here talking for the Silver Linings people, right?”

“...Yeah.” Without thinking, you touch your pin, the same comfort for you now it always was for your Dad, you think.

“Here’s a deal, because I’m tipsy, and I’m bitter, and I have nothing better to do with the next five minutes.” He leans on the bar, talking to your shoulder with a resigned sigh through his nose. “I’m going to give _you_ some advice, and then you’re going to give _me_ some advice. Unless you think your writer’s block is about to lift and the gates of verbose heaven are going to fall down to let out a flood of metaphorical angels to come beat your shitty speech into a pile of trash that you can say without choking on your own tongue, it doesn’t seem like you actually have anything better to do either.”

The gates of verbose heaven do not open, despite the moment you wait to check.

Well then. Why the fuck not?

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ve overheard enough of your weird rhyming despair to know your husband knows how you feel and I’m _guessing_ after twelve years he might be _okay with that._ So guess what? Your husband isn’t the problem.” He thrusts out a hand, pointing just to one side of you. “ _You are._ And not in some weird _not good enough_ way, don’t even _start_ down that snivelling line of self-pitying excretions. You’re trying to make someone who’s _already fine_ be okay with it all when _you’re_ the one who isn’t okay, and it sounds like you’re all over pointing out what you think is _wrong_ with what you’re doing and why everyone else is flawless, but you haven’t said a _single thing_ about why _you’re_ actually not as much of a piece of shit as you think. And you’re not! You’re _absolutely not. No one_ is a piece of shit like you think you are, and I have known some of the most spectacular pieces of genuine shit to walk this earth.”

“I-”

“No, shut up. It’s my turn for advice. And I bet you’ve had it before! I bet people have preached to your wall a ton of times, so maybe I’ll be the last nail that makes it fall down and reminds you that somewhere behind all the bricks you’re intent on building up is a person who’s just as entitled to all the good shit in your life as anyone else, and who- guess _what-_ is the guy who actually _got to have it,_ because your husband married _you_ and you married _him_ and whatever the fuck colours say about it can go suck on abstractions hefty ballsack because it’s been twelve years and however intent you are on convincing yourself you’re unhappy, you’re scared _because you’re happy._ Because you were told you were broken and you spend your time telling other people they’re not but never _listening to yourself._ You’re writing a speech right now to tell I don’t know how many people _that exact thing_ , but the person in the room who needs to hear it _most_ is _ignoring it_.”

Another drink is set down in front of him, brushing his fingers, and he grasps it, taking a long swig before he wipes his mouth and gestures with the glass.

“My advice is don’t write a speech,” he tells you firmly. “Stand up and say what _you_ need to hear.”

You look down at your page of scribbles and crosses and question marks, and you’re still no closer to even knowing what that _is,_ but- But who knows. You were going to be winging this anyway. Why not take the advice of a blind guardian angel who decided to bother you in a bar? It’s still the best advice you’ve had about this speech all month.

“I can try that,” you murmur, grasping the page and clenching your fist to crumple the paper. “Don’t know why I’d listen to myself after jamming my fingers in my ears and dropping sick beats in my brain to ignore everyone else, though.”

“Because your voice is the only one that you’re stuck with inside and out, it’s the one that keeps telling you whatever you are isn’t okay.” He sets his glass down carefully after seeking for the counter. “Try making it say something more useful for once.”

Something useful. You’re not sure you’ve _ever_ said something useful to yourself, but who knows, maybe this is a time for miracles, maybe this is your boss battle against yourself and your chance to slice the head off the shadow that whispers in your ears in your own voice when things are at their lowest. You’d do a lot to be free of it, so why not just talk? Talking’s what you’re _good_ at. Talking is what you _do._

“Is it my turn for advice?” You ask him after the silence lingers, and he nods, turning back to face the bar.

“I think I’m in love,” he says, “but how the fuck am I meant to know for sure?”

“Well.” It’s a strange question, one you’ve thought about in so many different contexts, in a world of grey and six of seven and rainbows dancing through people’s eyes- but his world doesn’t _have_ that, and you don’t know what to say, at first. Then you wet your lips, tap the crinkled paper lightly. “How do you feel? You know. That’s… That’s part of it, and you still know, right? They can take your sight but they can’t take your heart, not without some really messed up Iron Man maneuver to replace it with a nightlight magnet that didn’t actually replace his heart so this comparison is junk but you get the point.”

“...Of course I can _feel,_ what sort of question- No, no, listen. I can’t see if I’m _right,_ but _they_ can. What if I’m wrong and they just pity me? What if one day someone else is right for them? What if someone else is right for _me?_ ”

You stare down into your glass, searching for answers and finally just shaking your head. “...Then you get to make those choices and face those days without some rainbow road to lead the way, but it doesn’t mean all the shit you feel isn’t worth _trying_. Not having what everyone else does just means you have to figure out the path yourself, but it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Colours are meant to be everything.”

“Yeah, but.” You blink, John’s voice in your memory and something tugging at your chest. “But they’re _not_.”

You pat at your pockets and find your crumpled-up card, unrolling it slowly and pressing it down to straighten it out, and for a moment you can’t help but _wonder…_

He pulls a face when you laugh, turning his face towards you while you stare over your rainbow and then start to fold the worn-out paper away.

“I really thought you were gonna be red, for a second there,” you sigh. “I usually guess, when I’ve found someone. Usually _feel it_ , hah, and then get blinded. I always know.”

“Are you sure?” He replies, raising his eyebrows, and there’s something you can’t quite grasp in his voice.

You turn away, to your drink and your phone, checking your recent messages and telling John you’ll head home, that you think you made progress on what you’re going to say, _somehow,_ despite everything.

By the time you look back, you’re alone. All you can think about on your way down the street is that you never even asked the guy’s name.

-oOoOoOo-

“When I was seven, I learned to sing a rainbow.”

There’s a general murmur in the hall as the speakers that are carrying your voice fall quiet again, the rustle of papers and shifting of many bodies in seats, all lost in the shadows behind the dazzling lights that are taking up most of your vision. Somewhere near you is Jade, sitting where she met you to shake your hand and give you the stand, and after insisting on coming John is perched in the front row, beside Jake and Dirk and Rose. Your Dad is lurking in the back because that’s just… _him,_ but they’re here, all of them are _here,_ six of a seven and all of them _enough._

You take another breath.

“I learned that song, like everyone else in my class, and just like all of them I based my whole life on it, on all the things my teacher and everyone else promised me with those words. One day, Dave, you’re gonna grow up, and you’re gonna find a pretty girl and she’s gonna make the whole world come _alive,_ and you’re gonna marry her and be in _love_ and every colour you see is going to prove it, every day for the rest of your life.’

‘But then- Then I didn’t.” It started with a girl, with a sleepy face and big eyes, a misspelled suit-case label and a family that grew. “One day, I met Violet. _Just_ Violet. And yeah, I freaked out, I’m sure that won’t surprise anyone. At seven years old I found out I wasn’t like everyone else, and I didn’t know what to do with that, because that future I was promised… It fell apart in one moment, and my rainbow became one thing, just Violet. It… broke.”

Because it _did,_ didn’t it? It broke, and you told yourself over and over again it didn’t but that’s what it _felt_ like, that’s what it always was to you. Dave with his messed up colours, the ones that aren’t _right,_ clinging to the pieces you were given because you still clung to the hope that one day the right colour would come and everything would be _fixed._

“So what was I meant to do with Violet? It didn’t mean the true love I’d been promised, it _couldn’t_ , and it took me a long time to figure out what it really _was._ I’m still figuring it out, I will be for the rest of my life. On that first day, Violet was a family, a sister, a future and a divide. _Now,_ Violet is waking up at 3am to an essay, it’s pictures in the mail that are awful but I’m going to hang up anyway, it’s a shoulder I know would fly all the way across the country just to let me cry on it, and it’s bridging divides that used to seem too big to ever cross, and finding there’s something good waiting at the other side.”

It’s all of that, and more, and it’ll only keep growing. It’s the moment Rose smiled at you in Kanaya’s arms at her wedding, it’s the time Rose cried over her classmate and clung to your shirt, it’s the first time she called you her brother and smiled proudly around the word.

“Maybe the next time, I’ll get all the rest, I thought. I really wanted that, I wanted everything together, as much as I could have, just like I’d always been told I’d get. I wanted my life back, the one everyone’s meant to get, but instead I got Orange across a room on the day I found out the pretty girl of my dreams could be a handsome guy, and a whole new world opened up. That came as a shock to me, which given how my life has gone only gets funnier in retrospect.”

But Orange- Orange was fear, was thinking you’d lost everything, was wondering what would happen if a colour was stolen from you by someone who never looked back.

“Orange was an opportunity I nearly missed. One moment across a room and I had another shattered piece of my future, another blow to my hopes the world was going to give back what it had taken to me. It was… realising I couldn’t control who I connected to, and finding out I didn’t know who’d be important to me, not always. It was a mistake I made and toes I stepped on, and for a while there, I hated it. I hated it, and I think-” You swallow thickly, tightening your grip on the lecturn in front of you. “I think that was the day I started hating _me_. It was my fault, see? I’d done something wrong, I’d malfunctioned, I was… I was the unfinished sketch,” you laugh softly, “a colour-by-numbers with all the numbers missing, and while everyone else saw the shades filling it in, all I could see were the gaps.”

Even now, with the world shining before you, the eyes that watch it are empty, the one promise you were made as a child that reality never saw through.

“But Orange changed, when I found it and I let it in. Orange started as understanding, and a chance to be _me_ and find out what being me _meant._ Orange would become a mirror I needed to look at myself, and laughing at stupid raps late at night while I beatboxed into a microphone, and that family getting bigger in directions I’d started to think were closed off forever. Orange is… words when I needed them, in the language I speak, and the one to shake me to my senses when everyone else is willing to let me slip away.”

Orange is Dirk crashing into your wedding at last second, promising you he’d never miss it. It’s the way he hiccups when he laughs too hard, and how you know you’re one of the only people he ever cracks up hard enough around to do it. It’s the days you’re feeling like the world is ending, and he _gets it,_ but that doesn’t mean he lets you get away with giving in.

“A ghost brought me Green, a ghost who wrote a letter to a boy who saw colours through a TV and tried to chase them, a kid who thought he’d missed his shot. Green was a promise kept and a reply delivered so much later- But even as my world kept falling apart into puddles of different inks that were meant to be one lake, I saw that colours can be… something _else._ The people who change your life the most, the people who shape you, the friends who keep you alive and smiling when you might’ve given up. Green was my Dad getting an answer he never thought he’d see, and it was me getting another sister, and all the optimism I was lacking, all the sunshine I needed to take the risks I’d been too afraid to take.”

Heavy boots thudding around a cramped apartment and Jade snorting at jokes that made her grasp at her stomach, Green hope that bloomed like the spring and spread like her smile, a future path made clearer by the first time in your life that you weren’t alone.

“Green was it being okay to not be what I’d always thought I had to be, and finding out other people were different too. It was the first time I wondered if _broken_ and _different_ weren’t the same thing, and the day I committed to telling everyone else who needed to hear it that it was okay to be whoever they are, even if… if I never told it to the person who needed to hear it most. Green became a message that spread, a call that went up and was so much louder than I thought it’d be, and it’s the reason all of you are sitting here today listening to me; Green was the hope that if I do one thing in this life, it’ll be making even one person understand what I never could. That you’re _not broken,_ that you’re not _wrong,_ that you are bright and vivid with all the colours or one or _none,_ because the colours aren’t what makes you shine, _you_ are what makes the colours glow.”

Your gaze drops to your hands for a moment, your nose stinging, before you push forward, harder, straightening your back and looking ahead with all the pride you can muster.

“I already knew Blue, even if I didn’t know that’s what he would be. Grey text was enough for me to know that it belonged to a boy who was going to be on my rainbow, because sometimes- sometimes you _do_ know who you want in your life, who you’ll stand by, and maybe he was Blue because I let him be, because I _needed_ him to be, because even if my rainbow was going to be a mess, it was still _mine._ Blue came all the way down to meet me on a whim, and he was seeing the sky light up, he was validation, he was missteps and worries and _fears_ but most of all he was… he was John.”

He was _John._

“And I spent the rest of my life terrified of losing that. Of not trusting the colour I’d been given, of the colours he saw for me. Blue was the best moments of my life and my best friend and someone who didn’t expect me to be what I wasn’t, but Blue was… was realising I never _could_ be what I’d wanted to, that I was different in a way I couldn’t _fix,_ and knowing that I didn’t deserve him. He told me, all the time he told me, that I was wrong, that he was still here, that we were still together, and Blue meant best friend, then husband, then this asshole I’m going to spend my life with… But the fear never went away. It still hasn’t. Sometimes I wake up from nightmares where he left and my mind goes _how long, Dave? How long._ And I don’t know, but I do know that if I have to spend the rest of my life getting over that fear, I’m going to, because he deserves the best of me, and… And because I deserve the best of myself.”

Your eyes sting and you keep them up, grip tight on the wood and voice carrying firm even without the microphone.

“Blue is _my_ family. The one I _made._ It’s the family I have despite thinking I wasn’t _allowed_ that, because I wasn’t _right._ It’s the days I wake up from those nightmares and John’s _still there,_ and smiling, and making me feel like we’re still fourteen and he’s sweeping me off my feet for the first time. It’s not loving him like people told me I’m _meant to_ , and that being _okay._ That- That being okay.” Your shoulders are trembling. “Because I’m not living the perfect life they told me I would. I didn’t meet a pretty girl, and marry her, and have all my colours- I met amazing people, the best people I’ve ever known, and I met a _jackass_ of a man, and I married him after he asked me as a joke because I wanted to spend my life with my best friend, whatever that life had left to throw at me.”

 _So you’re in love with him,_ you’ve been told before, flat and fact, and had to laugh and say _maybe_ and hope they couldn’t see the pain in your eyes. _You just don’t know it yet,_ you’d been promised, and every time something else in you cracked and fell apart.

“It was my colours turning up one by one and bringing so many good things with them, so many good people and memories and a life I’m lucky to have had. It wasn't normal, it wasn’t what I wanted, what I was told… but it’s mine. It’s mine, and it’s magical and mythical and it’s _good._ It doesn’t matter if everyone else understands that, or understands _me._ It just matters that… I do.”

Blue is John holding your hand when you cry and telling you he’s still there, it’s him saying _you make me happy_ and meaning it, and never putting it into other words that leave a foul taste in your mouth, it’s him looking just as happy on your wedding day as he does when you slow-dance around your bedroom after too many drinks and too little sleep, and it’s him meaning it when he looks you in the eyes and tells you he’s not going _anywhere._

And you think-

You think maybe you really _can_ believe that.

“I’d always had Yellow,” you continue, eyes searching the lights for something you can’t see beyond them, your expression feeling slack and your heart thumping heavy inside you. “That’s something I’d never thought about, because- because we see these shades, and we’re told hey, this is _grey,_ so we just accept it. Sure you can do a colour blindness test but how many people do? I hadn’t, which is why I didn’t know what Yellow was until it came to remind me that it was the way I’d been raised and the hands that had caught me when I stumbled, as a child or a teenager or in my first fumbles through adulthood, that it was the person I’d taken for granted when he deserved all the credit he was due.”

It was tears in your yard and laughing together, colours lost and found and a smile that was just as warm surrounded by creases and silvered hair as it had been when it was young and easy.

“Sometimes I wonder if some people never really see grey- if all the colours are already _there,_ but they’re told they’re waiting for something else, something _better,_ so they never stop and look and find out. Yellow was never missing, it was always that one shade of grey I knew better than the rest, but I was twenty years old before I found out what it meant, that it was growing up and becoming me but never forgetting where I came from. That in all my time looking for the people who mattered most to me, I’d never paid enough attention to remember that one of them had been there all along, waiting patiently behind the scenes and never asking for anything in return.”

Yellow was something you nearly left behind, the place you’d always belonged but had convinced yourself you had to move on from. It was the thing you’d always been told was grey and you believed it, you believed it was empty like the rest, but it _wasn’t,_ and only you had the power to learn that for yourself.

“Because it's just a name, isn't it? Yellow, grey. It's something we give them, just like we give them their meanings, their weight. Just because I never saw it didn't mean it wasn't there, and just because you might never’ve had it doesn't mean what you have instead isn't just what you need, just what helps make you _you._ ’

‘Colour changes the world, and how you see it, but- When things are black and white, the contrast shows, you see the things that colour drowns out and- and all those people in my life, if I’d seen one rainbow, maybe I would’ve missed them. Maybe I would’ve missed all of this, everything I have, because I was following my rainbow and I didn’t stop to look off the sides and see what it was carrying me over.”

And maybe that’s the point, isn’t it? Maybe after everything, you’ve found the answer you always wanted, and it’s not the answer you thought it would be.

“If I chose Blue, then Indigo chose me. Indigo was… making a difference to someone. Was realising that sometimes just standing up and saying hi. I’m here. I’m real? That it can make all the difference in the world. It’s part of why I’m here today, part of why I’m saying all this, part of why I hope that that one person out of all of you can listen and see something you recognise, and realise you’re not alone.”

Indigo is the thing you’ve been running from, the words you always turned away and ignored. It’s Jake greeting you at your wedding with stars in his eyes, and him bounding down the stairs this morning to grasp your hand and shake it and tell you about all the people he’s met and all the things he’s done and that you did that, Dave. If it wasn’t for you, he’d never have been brave enough to try to reach out to others.

“Indigo was a man sitting beside me who had always felt like he was a mistake, and looking at me and finding out that he wasn’t, that he belonged, that _we_ belong, all of us, everyone. That just because your place in the world isn’t what you thought it would be, it doesn’t mean it isn’t _there,_ whether it’s colourful, or not; whether it’s obvious, or a myth waiting for you to learn to believe in it. It was me deciding that Indigo was going to mean something good, something worth fighting for, and it was him deciding that I was going to mean that it was worth speaking out so other people might hear, and know they belonged, too.”

But you _did_ decide what Indigo meant, didn’t you? You decided what it meant, just like you decided Yellow, and Blue, and Green, Orange and Violet. You found the colours in people, but more than that, you found them in the moments, in the places you needed them most, in the instants you dragged yourself forward and began to find that colour-by-numbers was waiting for you to write the numbers in all along, and decide for yourself where each one was going to go.

Fate gave you these people, but you’re the one who learned the lessons they brought with them, you’re the one who took them and made them your family, strange as it is and unconventional as it might be seen. Colours made you pause for them, but it was _them_ who you stayed for, just as vibrant in black and white as they are with all their colours shining.

“I am not broken,” you say, closing your eyes as you remember, and all the colours turn to one brilliant light. “I am not an unfinished sketch. My name is Dave, and I am thirty two years old. I have most of a rainbow, and I have the greatest family I could ever have hoped for, which I found in all the wrong ways, in all the wrong places. I never fell in love, and I’m never going to, because falling in love isn’t for me, and that’s okay; but I _love._ I love my Dad, and my sisters, and my daughter. I love my husband, and my cousin, and my friends. I never found my one single rainbow, but I found what I wanted, and what I needed, and it took a long time for me to know that. It took an even longer time to realise that- that it’s mine, and it’s okay that it’s not like everyone else’s, and that doesn’t mean I have to be scared of it vanishing if I ever look away.”

You open your eyes, look at a sea of faces you can’t make out, and you _know._

“My eyes are red,” you tell them, “and that was all I ever wanted. I didn’t _want_ my whole rainbow, I just wanted to find _red_ , to look in the mirror and finally see them, to see _me_ , and- That’s why I never found it. That’s why I never _could_. Because no one else was ever going to be that, no one else was ever going to mean what they had to mean. I learned everything I needed to from the colours of my rainbow, and each of them helped me find out who I am, who I’m going to be, started me going on a path I’m nowhere near the end of and I’m excited to keep discovering one day at a time with these colours and these eyes that my teacher coloured in for me even though I couldn’t see, that she really coloured red for her and her gaze that saw it and understood what it meant.”

You know now.

“I think what Red means is standing in front of a thousand strangers I don’t know, and telling them my life story because I hope someone will hear it and it will mean they can look at themselves in a mirror without hating what being them means. I think Red means knowing that this world would have been just as amazing in grey as it is now, and that no matter how bright my rainbow shines, I always have to keep looking away from it, seeing what else is there, making sure I don’t miss the things that aren’t as colourful but matter just as much.”

You’re looking up at the crowd, and you’re smiling, and your eyes are burning from more than the light.

“I think what Red means is Dave.”

You take a long breath.

“And what Dave means is being whole, and mythical, and not quite normal and not quite okay, but it’s piecing it together one day at a time and realising that I- and you, and everyone- that it’s up to us to decide what normal is, and what the life we’re going to have, no matter what we were told- What that life _is,_ and what we’re going to let the word _me_ mean.”

You look down, and your hands are gripping the lectern, and your suit is glowing brighter than the spotlights that are shining down on you, brilliant and blazing and full of something that means everything you ever wanted it to be.

“If you find your rainbow, or you never do; if it comes in pieces, or it burns out in a moment-” Your voice is shaking but you’re smiling, so wide it hurts, blinking fast as you tear your gaze away and look out at everyone who wanted to hear the boy with the broken rainbow speak and got to see him put all the pieces together and find it was really just a puzzle all along.

“You are what makes your world shine. You are the ones who put the colours in your life.”

The clapping starts slowly, but it spreads, races back like wildfire until it’s everything and everywhere but you- You don’t stop, you step back and you look at your hands and then you _run,_ you’re running, off the stage and past the doors to the maze of corridors Jake led you through, down and down as your footsteps echo until you find the door to the room you dressed in and slam it open, stumble to the table and plant your hands on it before you look up into the mirror and _see-_

And you’re crying, and laughing, and all the world is beautiful.

And red means _Dave,_ and your eyes are _red._

-oOoOoOo-

 

 

 

 

“Red and yellow and pink and green, purple and orange and blue… I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow too!”

Jane beams at you proudly, her voice the pride of her school choir and the feature of so many home videos John has taken to filming that if a day passes you don’t hear them both singing as they chase each other around the house you start to feel like something’s missing. Today, though, today is a day with _you,_ and she picks up another bead and offers it to you with a thoughtful pout as you smile.

“This one’s… Violet!”

“Close, baby girl. That one’s indigo.” You take it anyway, setting it aside and finding another blue bead to drop into place on the thread you’re carefully holding so the beads don’t spill. “You’re getting pretty good at that, that was close.”

“The grey isn’t all the same, if you look,” she explains proudly. “You just have to know what to look for! And I’m the best as sleuthing it out, teacher says so.”

“Does he now? Well it’s good to know your talents are being recognised.”

Jane passes you a smaller pearly bead and you drop it on to separate the colours, then find the indigo, making a point to show her how close she was to where it needed to be. Another pearly bead, and a violet, and then you offer it out to her, letting her lay in on the table and peer at the beads before she very carefully starts to add another pearl and then reaches around to look closely at all the colours.

“This’ll do you better than the card I had,” you explain to her, watching her compare beads and smiling. “Prettier, too, just like you.”

“ _Bro,_ ” she kicks you under the table, but then wiggles a bead at you triumphantly. “Red, right? Red like you.”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

Jane grins and slips it on, looking over the thread snaking over the wood and humming. “And this way I’ll know when I get my colours!” She pauses, then smiles at you. “ _Any_ of my colours.”

“And even if you don’t get a single one, you get a bracelet that can remind you of whatever you want it to.” You nod, reaching and ruffling her short hair. “And remember, that’s up to you. Even if you find a whole rainbow, don’t you let anyone tell you what it means, you hear? You decide for yourself.”

“I will,” your daughter promises solemnly, before laughing, a little hoot that turns her cheeks rosy. “But between this bracelet and the gosh darned song you keep getting stuck in my head, I’ll definitely remember the colours, Bro, I know that!”

“Just so long as you remember what’s most important.”

“Of course!” She answers, setting the string down entirely as she reaches for more beads now her limited supply is running sparse. “Me first, and what makes me happy.”

She’s a good kid, a good learner, and someday you hope she’ll look up to you like you look up to your Dad, and bring home a rainbow, or a colour, or just the things that she wants to build her life from, and show you each and every one with her bright, toothy smile and the sparkle still shining in her eyes.

“You’re gonna go far, Jane,” you tell her, and she beams at you, then lifts her head as John settles in the other room and you hear the first notes of him playing a familiar tune on the piano. “Looks like we stopped singing too long, Dad’s gonna get the camera out soon if we aren’t careful.”

Jane giggles, but she sits up, and looks at you expectantly as John’s playing leads on towards a cue you’ve known now for twenty six years.

“Okay kid,” you murmur, and here it all goes again.

“Once more, from the top.”

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Roll Credits](https://youtu.be/GHFwajteErg?t=53)


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